IN TOO DEEP
by dreamsanddays89
Summary: Ana visits her best friend Kate's house & finds herself falling deep for Kate's father, Christian. Will he give in to their connection or will knowing the consequences of romancing his daughters best friend hold him back? What begins as an innocent friendship,turns into desire then desire turns into love. older Christian/younger Ana, forbidden romance.
1. Chapter 1

IN TOO DEEP

"Please, please, please," Kate is begging as we walk in the school parking lot, trying to find where her car is parked. "It would be great if you could sleep over tonight! We can totally do a movie marathon!" I laugh at Kate's enthusiasm as we both cross the road, still looking around for where her car is, our sneakers crunching against wet gravel. "Besides, I want to finally show you my house!"

"Okay, okay," I sigh in surrender, laughing again. "I'll call my Mom as soon as we find your car and ask her if I can stay-over for the night, Kate. Just chill out and relax."

At my words, Kate squeals happily, jumping up and down, reminding me of a hyper child. I roll my eyes at her, shaking my head. Kate and I have been best friends ever since school started years ago. Now that we're seniors, we're trying to embrace our sort-of newfound freedom. Luckily for Kate, she just got her lisence, while I'm still working on getting mine. Her father even brought her a new car as a celebratory gift.

"Oh, here we are," she murmurs happily, finding her keys out of her bag. I stop still, staring at her car as she skips to the drivers side with a beaming grin. I'd seen her car a couple of times, and despite that, I still cannot contain my envy. Her car is spotlessly clean, one of the newest models of Audi R8's- or so she'd told me over a million times. A canary yellow paint job, with tinted windows; an expensive gift from her father.

I know my parents could never afford to get me a brand spanking new car like Kate's once I obtain my license. Maybe that's what makes me all the more jealous?

She unlocks the door with the little remote on her key-chain, and we both hop in, my senses assaulted by the new leather smell still. I haven't been to Kate's house before. I haven''t slept over before, but from what I've heard from Kate, she seems pretty well off. Her father is apparently a well-to-do businessman, recently divorced from her Mom who took barely a week to find a new guy to be with.

Kate's shown me pictures that her Mom has posted on social media of her and her new boyfriend doing selfies while holidaying, but I haven't seen what her father looks like yet. Kate's told me quite a few times that their divorce was messy.

"Whatever you do, don't mention my Mom to my dad, okay?" she says as she pulls out of the lot. "It's something I try to avoid doing myself. He doesn't like hearing about her at all."

"Well, that must be hard, not being able to talk about her?" I ask sympathetically. I can't even imagine it.

"Kind of. But like, I totally can understand in some ways. Dad was really heart broken- even although he tries not to let it show. But I can just tell, you know?"

The longer I spend in the car with her, the more anxious I feel to meet her dad. I hope he likes and accepts me, seeing as Kate and I have been friends ever since we basically started freshman year together. What if he demands we stop being friends?

In order to distract myself, I check my phone, decided to text my Mom to tell her I'm sleeping over at Kate's house tonight. My Mom can be strict at times, but not overly so. She writes back within two minutes, warning me to be good. Like I never am.

When I look up again, Kate is swerving into a long driveway. She shoves her foot down, speeding us up real fast towards a garage. I almost fly out of my seat. I try not to act amazed when I see how huge her house is. It becomes more clearer to me that she's really well-to-do and privileged. The house is huge, mansion-like, almost like a movie set, with a pristine manicured garden with hedges and lovely flowers. The house seems to be three-story, weatherboard white.

It puts my modest house at home with my Mom to shame.

"Yeah, so... this is kind of my house," Kate says lamely, parking near a car that looks just as fancy as hers and expensive. There's also a motorbike parked near it. "That's my dad's car and bike, but he always says it's off limits. He forbids me getting my bike license." At that, Kate rolls her eyes, shoving the car gears into park. "He thinks riding a bike is too dangerous for me."

As we get out of the car and Kate leads the way past a few hedges to the front door, the front of the house looks all the more exquisite up close. Inside, it looks just as gorgeous too. Decorated artfully with rich pastels and earth colors and abstract art. Every corner of her house screams elegance and taste, yet it still has a homely comfortable feel about it.

There's a weird commotion in the kitchen- a clatter of dishes and glasses- and then a man's voice calls out, "Kate, is that you home?"

"Yeah, dad," she calls loudly beside me. "It's me! I've got a friend over tonight since it's the weekend. Is that okay?"

I almost gasp out loud at the man that appears from out of the hallway to meet us. Is this Kate's dad? Surely not, because he's younger than I was expecting. Younger and attractive, wearing a tight fitting white polo shirt and jeans, a golf club in his hand. The shirt is short-sleeved, showing off muscular arms, his body tall and lean. He has tousled reddish brown hair, his eyes the most piercing, sharpest gray I have ever seen.

"What's this about having a friend stay over the night?" he asks, and he finally turns his gaze to me. Terrible as it is to think it, I find him to be the definition of hot for an older man, which makes it bad because he's Kate's father obviously. But he's gorgeous.

"Dad, this is Ana, my best friend from school. Ana, this is my dad Christian."

"Ana," he repeats, something like familiarity lighting up his gray eyes. "So this is the infamous Ana that Kate keeps telling me about. It's great to finally meet you, sweetie." He says this all in an appealing, sexy voice while holding my gaze. There's something instantly hypnotic about his gaze.

"Um, y-yes," I stutter, holding my hand out awkwardly. "I'm that Ana. It's nice to meet you, Mr Grey."

"Please, call me Christian." He shakes my hand, his grip firm, confident. Releasing my hand, he looks at Kate, smiling at her. He looks so young when he smiles- it is so hard to believe he is actually Kate's father and that he's over thirty. "I had the day off early, so I thought I'd fit in some golfing with Taylor. If you girl's need anything at all, just shout out to me. You know where to find me."

"Yeah, okay, dad," Kate mutters, sounding embarrassed for some reason. "Actually, I was hoping of having a movie night with Ana. Is it cool if we watch movies in the theater room?"

Theater room?

"Of course, whatever you want. Just ask Sawyer for help if you have trouble with setting up the projector."

"Cool." Kate glances my way, giving me a weird look. "Come on. Let me show you around."

I give Mr Grey- Christian- a tentative smile before following her, my heart pounding.

Holy shit. Why didn't Kate tell me her dad was so young and good-looking?

"You feeling okay?" she asks me as I follow her.

"Um, yeah, I... Um..." I try to think of something interesting to say, but I've never been too quick with this sort of thing. "I just wasn't expecting your dad to be like that."

"What?" she laughs. "A total golf freak?"

"No, not that. But..." I bite my lip, wondering how to put it. Is it rude if I outright say that I find him hot? Good-looking? "Young," I settle on. "I never expected him to look that young?"

"Well, he's thirty-eight this year. That isn't that young." Kate shrugs, warning me to watch my step as we start climbing the stairs. "At least he didn't embarrass me too much, though. My dad is super embarrassing." Somehow, I can't imagine that he is.

"What does your dad do for a living exactly?" I ask curiously, because she hasn't even told me. "He must have a really good well paying job?"

"He does. He owns his own company, which is really successful. Apparently China is interested in investing in his company too. It's a worldwide thing."

"Wow," I gush.

I startle when, on the last step, a guy appears, standing by a doorway, dressed in a fine grey suit.

"Afternoon, Kate," he says.

"Hey Sawyer. What's up?" Kate turns to look at me. "That's Sawyer, one of dad's security personnel. He's always hanging around."

"So he's like your bodyguard?" I ask, smiling nervously at the guy before passing him.

"Sort of. Dad's anal about security." She stops into the center of the room, which I'm assuming is her bedroom. It's huge, covered in posters and cute decorative pieces on the walls. "This is my room."

"Wow, it's so cool. And spacious."

"You think so?" she says, pleased by my reaction. "Well, just wait until you see the theater room. That's even cooler!"

* * *

A couple of weeks flew by, where I'd spend every weekend staying over at Kate's house. It started to feel like a second home, almost.

And the more and more I stay-over, the more I start to speak with Kate's dad. Christian is a great guy. Although I hardly see him around if I come over after school with Kate because he's working late, I always tend to see him on the weekends because that's his days off, Saturday's and Sunday's. Whenever he is home on the weekend's, he is always laid back, casual, funny, teasing Kate and embarrassing her on purpose. And the more I see him interact with Kate, the more I begin to think he's more of a friend to her, than a father to a 17 year old.

And the worst thing of all, the more I spend staying-over or visiting Kate's house, the more my crush on him grows...

I hadn't expected it, to grow a crush on an older man, especially not my best friend's father. But having spent two weeks in a row sleeping-over, having dinner with them, talking to him, it happens, suddenly and without warning.

I know it's ridiculous. What could he ever see in someone like me, his daughter's friend? Somebody her age?

I'm probably just seeming like another daughter to him. That's probably it.

I hadn't anticipated myself being in this awkward situation at all.

* * *

"Shit, Ana," Kate whines helplessly at the stove while watching the salmon heat up. "It's burning!"

"Kate, relax," I laugh at her from my place in her large kitchen, pouring boiling water over some noodles to cook them. "They aren't burning. They're just starting to cook!"

"Remind me again how it is that you can cook really advanced stuff like fish without somehow spoiling it?"

"It's like I told you. My Mom's always been a terrible cook, so I sort of had to learn to teach myself." I laugh again as Kate probes the pieces of salmon in the pan like they're insects with the end of a knife.

It's my forth weekend at staying at the Grey's house. My Mom doesn't mind me staying here so much. As for Mr Grey, I'm not too sure how he feels on it. We hear the door slam at the same time, exchanging looks. Christian's home.

"What is that smell?" he calls, in playful horror, I think. "Kate, are you trying to cook again?"

"Ha ha. Hold on a sec." Kate disappears, leaving me to tend to the fish while she greets her dad. I hear them talking in the hallway.

"What? Anastasia's here again? She's already stayed here three weekends in a row already."

"I know, dad, but her Mom is totally cool with it. Please, she's the only friend I have."

"Fine, so long as her mother truly doesn't mind..."

"Thank you! You're the best dad in the world!"

Their conversation trails off as Kate runs back into the kitchen, beaming happily. Then I see him. I watch him surreptitiously out of the corner of my eyes as Mr Grey comes into the room while struggling out of his business suit jacket. He stops still when he notices us in the kitchen.

"What's all this?" he asks, coming closer while folding his jacket neatly. He peers into the bowl of steaming hot noodles separating, inspecting my work.

"Ana's really good at cooking, dad," Kate informs him happily. "Right now, she's teaching me how to cook us noodles and salmon."

"Really?" Christian eyes me with interest as I grab a fresh fork, pulling strands of saturated noodles apart. His gaze makes me feel red in the face. "How is it that you know how to cook so well at your age?"

"I guess I had to teach myself," I explain with a shrug. "My Mom's a lousy cook so she depends on me cooking for her most of the time. I love cooking anyway. I find it relaxing."

"Do you hear that, Kate?" he murmurs, sounding impressed. "Perhaps you can get some tips from Anastasia?"

"Ha ha," Kate laughs, poking her tongue out at him. "It's not my fault I can't cook."

"Can't cook is an understatement. You can't even toast bread without burning it."

I can't help grinning as I watch Kate punch him on the arm playfully. They truly are more like friends than anything else.

"Anastasia, I would gladly pay you a thousand dollars a lesson if you could teach this girl how to cook without managing to almost burn the house down."

"Shut up, dad!"

Okay, so maybe tonight I have an ulterior motive. I'm maybe trying to impress Mr Grey with my cooking, showing that I'm not completely helpless like his daughter is, which is why I decided to go the route of doing salmon with noodles and vegetables. On a subconscious level, I admit maybe I'm trying to show him I can be a grown-up, with terrific culinary skills. Besides, having stayed over the past few weekends and observing him, I've noticed he could do with a decent home-cooked meal.

There's a loneliness there about him, a reservedness that seems almost sad. I want to treat him, because observing him, I notice he doesn't have any friends around. He'll come home at work at this time, then order take-out and buy it with us.

He frequently plays golf with Taylor, but Taylor isn't a friend- Kate told me he's part of his security. He doesn't seem to have friends that he doesn't operate on a business level with. He also hasn't been with a woman, something I've admitted paid extra attention to. He seems only to be a strict workaholic.

"I got to go to the bathroom," Kate says, dashing out of the room, urgently, leaving us two alone. An awkward silence fills between us as Mr Grey strides past me towards the fridge to get out a bottle of wine. He always seems to drink wine alone a lot too.

"How was work?" I force myself to say as he reaches behind me to grab a clear crystal wine glass from in the cupboard.

"Just fine, Anastasia. The usual." I watch out of the corner of my eye as he uncorks the bottle and pours himself a generous amount of red wine. He sniffs it, the fragrance, then takes a small sip. "You really didn't have to bother with this," he adds, and I feel myself stiffen against the stove as his voice comes close from behind me. "I would have been happy ordering us all a pizza or sushi again like last weekend."

"I know, Mr Grey, but... I'm happy to do it," I assure him quietly. "I thought it's the least I could do to show my gratitude for your kindness in letting me stay here most weekends. I hope it doesn't bother you that I'm always here?"

"Not at all. If anything, I'm pleased you seem to be such a loyal friend to Kate." I turn to smile at him, but all previous thoughts and happiness over his comment instantly fly out the window as I notice him stripping out of his work tie. He folds it, shoving it down into his trouser pocket. Then he uses both fingers on each hand to start undoing several buttons on the collar of his white dress shirt. "Kate really needs all the friends she can get right now," he adds, though I can't say I'm truly listening.

I. Am. Dead.

As he finishes plucking the forth button down, I see his shirt is undone enough that I catch a glimpse of his chest and throat muscles, the smatterings of hair there. As he starts rolling up his sleeves over his forearms, he must realize I am pathetically staring at him, practically drooling all over his pristine floor, because he arches his eyebrows at me. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Um... y-yes, Mr Grey." Shaking my head, I turn, facing the bowl of steaming noodles quickly. Stupid! Why am I so stupid? "Dinner's almost done so if you want, you can... umm, get some plates?"

I hear Christian chuckle and he must be closer behind me than I first realize, because his breathes tickle my ear and the side of my face.

"Smells delicious, sweetheart," he mutters. "You truly are an impressive cook for your age." He reaches over me, between me with his arms, and I feel like I am hyperventilating as I watch his forearms, the light veins there, how long and masculine his fingers are as he grabs the salt and pepper shakers near me that I used to season the salmon. I feel his chest brush against my back, the fabric of his shirt.

I truly am pathetic, swooning over him.

Kate appears from her bathroom run and it shakes me out of it brutally.

She tells Mr Grey to sit at the table and wait for his dinner to be served, and he does, waiting patiently while Kate helps me put everything together. She pours the noodles into each plate while I focus on slicing the salmon into equal portions. As I glance up, I notice Mr Grey staring at me, his eyes bright, a bland yet polite smile on his face as he waits for us to be ready with dinner.

Of course he doesn't feel it too whenever he is near me, that palpable sexual tension. It's all in my head.

Finally done with the meals, Kate brings his plate over, beaming happily. "Ta-da!" she announces, and we both laugh, watching his reaction as he picks up his cutlery to take a bite of the salmon.

He moans out loud at the taste of the salmon, a beautiful spine-tingling noise that obviously affects only me and not Kate. "This is absolutely scrumptious," he murmurs while chewing. "I am truly impressed. This is seasoned and cooked perfectly."

"Well done," Kate says, bouncing her shoulder off mine cheerfully.

"Thanks Kate, but you helped, too."

"Yeah, right. I basically only helped dish out."

I feel my cheeks get hotter as I sink down into a chair with my own plate. "Glad you seem to like it that much, Mr Grey."

"Please, Anastasia, stop that with all of this Mr Grey nonsense. It's starting to make me feel like an old man and I'm not even 40 yet. Please, it's just Christian."

What? Not even 40 yet? "You're not even 40 yet? How old are you?" I know it's impolite to ask, but I sort of forget my manners, laughing.

"I'm thirty eight. Why; how old do I look to you?" He runs a hand through his hair slowly, as if self-conscious and nervous for my answer.

"Well, I always thought you had to be somewhere around 40 if you have a 17 year old daughter. Although admittedly, I also just thought you were one of those lucky guys who looks younger than they are? How old were you when you had Kate?" I cannot contain my curiosity, glancing between them.

Kate answers for him, "Dad got Mom knocked up during high school, didn't you, Dad? She was seventeen, our age, wasn't she?"

"Yes, that's right." I watch his face carefully as he reaches out for his glass of wine. He takes a sip, not meeting either Kate's or my eyes. I wonder if he's uncomfortable speaking of his ex-wife still. "There was this beautiful girl, who happened to be Kate's mother. We started dating when school started and, against better judgement, we couldn't keep our hands off each other." He clears his throat loudly while meeting my gaze. "One thing led to another, and Kate happened."

"Yeah, and I ruined your life," Kate mutters.

"No." Mr Grey looks at her, his voice and expression truthful. "Don't say that you ever ruined my life. Yes, it happened so abruptly, but you were the best part of it. I suppose, one of the main good things that came out of it, is that due to the minimal age difference, we're so close. You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

I have to glance down at my food, feeling a lump in my throat after his speech. It's so sweet, what he's telling Kate. The love he has for her- it's so palpable right now.

"That's really beautiful," I whisper, the only thing I can seem to formulate into words.

"Yeah, beautiful and gross," Kate mutters, making a face of disgust. But I know she's only playing. She laughs when Mr Grey reaches over to grab her by the hand, shaking it, and that seems to knock her out of her denial. She meets his eyes with a smile, her eyes watery. I have to glance back down at my plate again, suddenly feeling as though I'm invading a precious father-daughter moment.

Once we've all finished dinner, I stand from the table, grabbing everyone's plates. Mr Grey follows me in, helping clear the table while Kate plays with her phone.

"You've done great and you should be really proud of yourself," I mutter to him when I know we're alone, out of ear shot from Kate. His shoulder brushes against mine as I put the plates in the sink, and he puts in the cutlery. "Kate's a really great girl. She's the greatest best friend I could ever ask for, a truly wonderful human being." I don't know why I say what I do next. I guess it just comes out, "And, as for your ex wife, she missed out, Christian. She lost a great man when she divorced you and any woman would be lucky to have you."

He gets a funny look on his face as he glances down at the plates in the sink. Have I overstepped a line? Probably.

"Thank you, that's sweet of you to say, Anastasia," he mutters, shaking his head. "But I don't necessarily believe that to be true."

"Well, it is," I insist, a bit too strongly. I hear my own soft voice wavering with passion.

"Anastasia, you're young. You don't know what your saying."

"But I do know what I'm saying," I murmur honestly, trying to meet his eyes over the sink. Only he won't let me. "Any woman would be lucky to have you as their husband, and I'm not just saying that. You're incredible."

He closes his eyes for a moment, something like a short sigh escaping him. Then he reopens his eyes to glance over at me, his gray eyes bright with what seems hesitance, doubt.

"You're handsome. Funny. Charming." I can't even stop myself from gushing. "Not to mention, you're a great father to Kate and a very successful person in life." I reach up, touching his shoulder with the flat of my palm, standing closer, "And you're not even 40 yet, like you said? You've accomplished so much at your age!" Every thing I say, he shakes his head vigorously, like he refuses to believe, his mouth in a flat line. How can he not believe me? "Your ex, she really loses out."

And it's then I realize I've fallen way too deep. I'm in too deep.

* * *

Later that night, I'm under the duvet, sharing Kate's large bed. I can't seem to sleep, I'm just awake, staring up at the dark ceiling in her room while Kate lays beside me, her socks rubbing against my ankles.

Mr Grey comes into my mind as I sigh loudly, wishing to find sleep. Honestly, he always seems to. I always seem to think about him, especially when I'm trying to switch off and sleep. I always seem to replay our conversations that we do have, over analyzing them. It's just a habit I can't seem to break.

And then, when I do think of him hard enough, of his face, his arms... I start to feel all tingly inside, like there's something fluttering in my chest.

"Ana, you still awake?" Kate grumbles beside me; her voice throaty with sleep.

"Yep, I am."

"Why? What are you thinking about?"

I can't tell her the truth obviously. I sit up, blinking at her in the dark. "You think your dad will ever remarry or meet someone?"

"I don't know. Probably not. Why?"

"He just..." I hesitate, biting my lip."He seems sort of... lonely? I feel sorry for him sometimes."

"Well, don't." The bed rustles as she turns. "I'm sure he's fine. He's just trying to get over my Mom." She yawns loudly, then I start to hear her breathing deeply. She obviously can sleep easier than I can.

His face comes into my mind clearly in the darkness as I reach below the sheets, cupping my stomach, wishing those fluttering feelings to go away. Why do I have to like him, of all people? He'll never see me the way I want him to.

And, even if he did, it would probably be wrong.

WHAT DID YOU THINK? I LIKE WRITING STORIES THAT ARE SORT OF FORBIDDEN, BUT NOT SURE IF ANYONE WILL LIKE? LET ME KNOW, I HOPE IT ISN'T TOO MUCH, CHRISTIAN BEING KATE'S DAD :)


	2. Chapter 2

THANK YOU FOR YOUR RESPONSE, IT'S SO KIND! I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS ANOTHER STORY LIKE THIS, SO HOPEFULLY THIS ONE WILL BE DIFFERENT. I DID NOT MEAN TO HAVE THE SAME IDEA WHERE CHRISTIAN IS ANA'S BEST FRIEND'S FATHER, SO I HOPE I HAVEN'T OFFENDED ANYONE. HOPE YOU ENJOY!

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 2

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"We need to talk urgently. Call me when you can." This.

This was the message I received on my cell from my wife while in the middle of a meeting. I'd felt my phone, on silent, go off in my pocket, vibrating through my trousers while conversing with the other fellow members of the board around me.

Because I was head CEO, which made me practically boss of my own company, I could afford to slip my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone in front of others without being questioned for it. No one blinked an eye when I did, opening the text from my wife.

It had been the last thing I'd been expecting, to receive a message from her claiming that we needed to talk. I'd heard it as one of those proverbial dreaded four words that any man, married or in a relationship, loathes to hear.

We need to talk...

An ultimate sign that all was not apparently well. Since she'd bothered to send me a text like that with no further explanation, I'd started fretting that it was in regards to our 15 year old daughter at the time; the biggest achievement in my life, first to where I was now, making millions of dollars a year running my own successful telecommunications company.

I'd excused myself to go into the hallway, running my fingers through my hair while hitting the dial button. I could feel a surge of adrenaline, of panic racing within me; I could already hear the words in my head.

Kate's been admitted into a hospital, something happened to her...

Only, apparently I couldn't have been more wrong when she answered on the forth ring.

"Christian, thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I wasn't expecting that." There it was, in her tone of voice. It was the way she spoke to me, something that I hated. It started happening a lot at the time, where she'd speak to me in a somewhat hateful, sarcastic tone of voice. Even then, I still couldn't have anticipated what was happening.

"Well, you said we needed to urgently talk. What's happened? Is Katherine-?"

"Katherine's fine," she spoke over me. I let out the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding in. "This isn't about Kate at all."

"Then what's this about?"

I could hear another man in the background then. Things had been rocky between us for some while. As my hours had increased at work, as well as travelling away from home, I hadn't been able to be there as much as I could. Then one night, after catching a late night flight back home, she'd acted colder, distant. She wouldn't speak to me like she usually did, and I had no idea why. I'd ended up sleeping on the couch after she'd told me about these dinners she'd apparently had with an old friend- something I was assuming she'd made up to get back at me, to punish me over being away due to business and work.

I'd noticed she'd started treating me differently, always with disdain, with sarcasm. Nothing I had ever done during that time had seemed enough for her. I was trying and trying, and yet, she was making it hard.

"I want a divorce. I've been in denial about it for a long time, but now, I realize it's not healthy for me to try keep it in anymore. I need to be honest."

A divorce? "Wait, what?"

"I don't love you anymore. Really, I don't think I have felt love for you for a while now."

She may as well have kicked me in the balls in the middle of my staff. All the air seemed to leave my lungs, I felt as though I'd become paralyzed. I wasn't even so sure I had heard her right.

"I think I've misheard you," I muttered into the phone, leaning against the wall. I peered through the glass into the meeting room, noticing everyone looking at me. They were all waiting, and I wondered then what my face looked like to them. "Did you say you want-"

"- A divorce, Christian," she confirmed, in that cold, ugly voice she'd always addressed me with lately. "I've met someone."

Met someone?

Met someone... The phrase rang inside my head over and over, like an annoying song. I felt like beating the shit out of someone then, but at the same time, denial and skepticism acted as my self-preservation. Surely this was another bullshit way of her getting back at me for not being at home as often as she'd liked? How could there possibly be someone else?

"It's been happening for a while now," she continued, though I wasn't sure whether she was just trying to rub more salt into my wounds. "You don't know him, but he-"

I really didn't want any details. "-Look," I began, trying to speak as calm and collected as humanly possible. I brought up my hand to pinch the bridge of my nose with my index finger and thumb. My eyes caught onto the thin gold wedding band on my finger; the ring I'd worn devotedly since we first got married years ago ever since she announced her pregnancy. Getting married at 18, it was the logical step for the pair of us. "I understand you're still mad at me due to my work hours picking up and not being home as much as I usually am, but you and Kate are-"

My whole entire fucking world, I was about to say. But she started again.

"-Let's not beat around the bush here, Christian. We're just not working out, and surely, you've noticed that for a while now? We keep making each other miserable."

The only thing I'd noticed was how colder she had gotten towards me. I'd sensed it for a while now. She was clearly the miserable one, not me.

She'd began to feel like a stranger whenever I came home. Our sex life had fizzled out, to the point where whenever I was interested, I'd have to go to extra lengths to initiate it. There was a time there where she couldn't keep her hands off me, but then, I don't know how or when... things changed. She'd complain that she felt too tired or "in the morning" she'd feel more up to it, which when morning came, it never happened. Whenever she kissed me goodbye it felt distant, like she was doing it out of mere obligation than anything else.

We share a joint bank account, because obviously, I am not greedy with money and I think it's pretty fucking fair to share money with your wife. I certainly made enough as it was.

But going through transaction records in bank statements the past few months before she had initiated the divorce, I'd seen she'd started purchasing 5 thousand dollar designer dresses and would come home looking different, wearing different make-up, smelling different.

It wasn't just the clothes and jewelry. It was going out to lunch every single day, buying expensive meals and, even at one stage, having booked and purchased a room in a high class hotel while I was away on a business trip months and months ago. Who the fuck had she gone into a hotel room with? Was it him? Had I truly been blind all that fucking time?

And then, she turned it all onto me, like a brutal snowstorm tumbling down all around me, high-lighting all my faults, my errors.

"You're such a workaholic, Christian, you never have any fun. Remember that time you promised to take Kate and I to Vancouver and you never ended up doing that because something came up at the last minute?"

"You brought Kate a car early already for when she finally gets her license, yes. But what about me? Remember that yacht I was interested in? You've known for months and yet, you can easily splurge on buying your daughter a car for over 30 grand? You knew how interested I was in that!"

"You never once listen to me, so now I've found somebody who does. He actually listens to me and understands, he doesn't try getting immediately to the root of the problem to try and fix it. He just listens!"

On and on, it went. Me the fucking asshole. Admittedly, she had a point, and now I could see it and accept it more logically now. I did work too much, sacrificing time with my wife and child. And I'd always had this thing where, whenever a problem came up, I'd address it immediately, trying to fix it and take control without taking the other person into consideration. But what I did not need was for her to throw it all into my fucking face.

"Look, I'm at work right now," I spoke over her, my control nearly evaporating. My voice had started to rise. "Can we speak about this later preferably in person? You couldn't have told me this tonight in person and speak to me like a civilized adult instead of interrupting me in the middle of work?"

She'd laughed then on the other line. "See? That's my point. You're always putting your work above anything else."

"That's not true!" I argued back. "If anything happened to Kate, I'd be leaving work within a second to be with her. You know that."

"Yes, with Kate! Not with me! I've found someone who finally puts me first for once, not all of this other shit!"

Our conversation and arguing was escalating, to the point where she was shouting now. We really should do it later in person. That was something she always never understood; There was a right way to fight and solve things, and it was speaking logically and thinking it out, whereas with her, she reacted without thinking, always letting her emotions get the better of her.

"We'll talk about it tonight when I get home," I said, making the decision for her, for myself. "I really can't do this shit right now."

"No, we won't be, because I'm not coming home, I'm done," she wailed over me, her voice shaking. "My decision is final. We're done. I've already taken half of my things." She'd worked herself up to the point where she was breathing heavily on the other line, her voice drained. "We're over," she finished softly, in a toneless voice. "There's nothing else that needs to be said. There's nothing else you can say or do. I just... I don't love you anymore."

And so that was it, done and dusted, just like that.

We were done. Years of marriage since the age of 18 gone down the drain.

The divorce proceedings and settlement went quickly. I just wanted it to be over. I gave her half of the money we shared in the joint account, I got to keep the family house. We got joint custody of our daughter, and then that was that. She went off, living her own life with this other man I didn't have the heart to learn about. The end.

Which, of course, sadly, it isn't that simple, although I wish it was.

We met in high school, having a daughter together young. It's a long time, something you can't just forget easily. At least I couldn't.

Working seemed to offer me distractions well enough, and most of the time, I tried not to let myself think about her too much. Looking after Kate, teaching her how to drive, making sure she did well at school, that offer me another great distraction. But the feelings always there, deep inside me.

Bitterness. Resentment.

I would have been happy tossing out all of our belongings, starting afresh and redecorating the house so I wouldn't have any reminders of her, but Kate didn't want that. I would have been happy smashing all of our photos and tearing apart the photo-album, only Kate didn't want that either.

She wanted those memories of the life her parents shared together, the baby photos. Our wedding photos. While I would have felt better tearing them apart and lighting everything on fire, it wasn't fair to Kate. She was still her mother, no matter how much I wished I could banish her from existence.

So now, Kate doesn't speak of her anymore. She doesn't even say her name. When she goes to see her mother, she isn't allowed to tell me what happened, or what her new partner is like. It's something I can't handle knowing. I'd rather pretend everything is normal and that her mother doesn't exist.

I hate her mother. I hate her for leaving me, for leaving me for someone else.

My therapist that I see, Flynn, tells me it isn't healthy to direct my anger onto my daughter. After all, she's still her mother so I shouldn't project any anger or bitterness onto her. But there are frankly times when I want to address her mother as the bitch, if we ever were to speak about her at all. "How's the bitch?" I would say. "How's her new asshole partner?"

But, as Flynn says, it isn't fair on her. So I've resolved not to think of her mother nor speak of her at all. It doesn't help erase the pain and misery of knowing she left me for some other guy, that they're no doubt sponging off on the half of the money I gave her, holidaying and doing fuck knows what together.

Three years have gone past from that phone call, and the whole divorce, and still, I can't recover from how much I loathe the bitch for tearing our family apart, for seeing someone else when she was still married to me. But that's something I try to keep strictly to myself.

Right now, I want to just focus solely on being the best person I can be, for my daughter. It hasn't been easy.

These past 3 years of living alone with her, I've learned a few things. About how different women are to men, girls especially. They may as well not be humans. The amount of time my daughter has cried in front of me, is astounding. You can't tell her to toughen up and stop crying like a baby, because girls, they are emotional creatures who require sensitivity and listening.

She's certainly taught me it's okay to be emotional in front of her, to a certain extent.

Before, when her mother and I were still together, she'd always run to her Mom for girl talk. Now, she runs to me. Usually, I don't like touchy-feely emotional shit, I never have. I hate hugging, and I hate people touching me or stepping into my personal space. But with Kate, it's different. When she's upset, she's the most emotional, touchy-feely person in the world. She needs hugs and declarations of emotional love, and it's something I've now grown to like, not so much as be embarrassed about and try to shut off.

Trying to raise her these past 3 years as a single, divorced father has certainly taught me how to be more in touch with my emotional side. The only good thing about her bitch of a mother and I separating, is how closer we have become, and how much more I have learned about her. Especially learning how much I need to change when I'm around her.

At work, I'm focused, alert, trying to keep as calm and methodical as I can be. Detached even. But when I get home, when I'm with Kate, I've learned how necessary it is for the mask to be taken off. She's taught me that it's okay to be goofy, particularly in front of your daughter. It's okay not to be serious all the time or stoic. It's okay to allow myself to be vulnerable to her. It took some time to get used to at first, but now we're doing great.

Now I've found that perfect balance; those two personas of being the businessman. And then, at home, with my daughter, the father.

It hasn't been easy, but we're finally getting there. I think _I'm_ finally getting there.

* * *

It isn't a steady progression of either upwards or downwards. There are days where it's up, and there are days when it's down. It's never constant, one way or the other.

Today's a downward. It's Kate's day to go stay-over at her mother's house. Her mother never steps a foot into the house. She always waits in the car.

The car honks outside the front, and I grit my teeth, moving towards the window at the harsh, grating sound of it.

So she's brought herself a new car. It's a new model, probably a Mercedes, black exterior, tinted windows. The window on the driver's side is down, and I think I see him. The new partner. The asshole now fucking my bitch of an ex-wife.

Rip my fucking heart out, why don't you?

He slams a hand on the horn again, practically waking up the whole entire fucking neighborhood. Why can't her mother just step out of the car and come up to the house to get Kate rather than have her new asshole boyfriend honk on the horn loudly, disrupting my neighbors?

Then again, it's probably a smart move. I'm not so sure what I'd do if he actually approached the front door to get Kate. I have a feeling I'd either get violent or grovel.

"Just a second," Kate calls loudly from in her bedroom, as if they can hear her from all the way inside the house. "God, I'm just getting my things!"

She comes down the stairs, struggling with her laptop bag, her backpack.

Just like every other time it's her turn to go with her mother, I force a smile as I turn to face her, acting as though I don't have a care in the world when, really, punching the asshole that is now dating my ex-wife would be very satisfying at this point. But my therapist also made an extremely valid point that, while the divorce happened between me and my ex, it also happened to our daughter as well and we have to put our bitter, violent thoughts aside for the sake of making her feel comfortable. Alienating one parent- a bad idea.

"You all ready to go?" I ask her.

"Yep, I think so." Still struggling with her bags, she smiles, coming towards me. When she kisses me goodbye on the cheek, it's like my entire heart warms up. I may try to put on a facade of being a cold hearted businessman, but when it comes to this girl, she's my weak point, my Achilles heel. "See you tomorrow. Love you."

"Yes, you too, baby."

I return to my place at the window, watching as her mother finally steps out of the car, helping Kate put her bags in the backseat. She's wearing stilettos, a dress I recognize she used to wear a lot when we were still married, and she seems more tanned than I remember she was.

Bitch, I think to myself, both bitterly and wistfully as she gets back into the car. I don't even care how pathetic I am, hiding behind the blinds, spying on my ex. All I know, is that something becomes abundantly clear as I watch the car roll down the street, a heavy feeling in my heart.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully get over her. All the history we have, the child, the pain... it's all too much. But it would be nice to share a life with someone again one day, to not die alone.

I suppose that scares me the most, fearless as I often try to appear to everyone around me. The idea of dying alone.

HOPE THIS WAS OKAY AS AN INTRODUCTION TO CHRISTIAN? I AM PROBABLY TERRIBLE AT WRITING HIS POINT OF VIEW, IT'S SO HARD. I INTEND TO UPDATE 3 TIMES A WEEK, SO CHAPTERS WILL BE ARRIVING A LOT AS SOON AS I CAN. ANY SUGGESTIONS ON PLOT, ETC, ARE WELCOME IF YOU WANT TO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE HAPPEN.


	3. Chapter 3

THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS. SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO UPDATE, I HAVE BEEN ILL WITH A COLD SO HAVEN'T FELT MUCH IN THE MOOD TO WRITE, BUT FINALLY MANAGED TO SQUEEZE ONE OUT. HOPE IT'S OKAY.

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 3

ANA POINT OF VIEW

I start to lose count on about my seventh or so time of sleeping over on the weekend at Kate's. It all turns into pretty much a blur, but it definitely feels like a second home to me.

My days, at Kate's, are spent basically spying on her father, trying to work out his routine without being caught by Kate.

Again, I know it's wrong, being infatuated with Kate's dad. I know it would realistically never happen between us, and it would be wrong on many levels if it did, but what's the harm in a girl dreaming, right?

So far, during my previous stays, I've worked out that on week nights, he doesn't come home from work until a bit after six in the evening. He likes golfing with his security man Taylor every second weekend. He never sees other women, which makes me wonder if what Kate said is right, in that he's still trying to get over the divorce and her Mom.

On Sunday's, he likes to go for runs that morning. I caught him last week, coming in from a run at 8.30 a.m, dressed in grey track pants and a tight grey V-neck shirt, panting heavily while he got an unopened bottle of chilled water out from the fridge. Usually I find it off-putting, seeing men sweaty, but there is something about him that made sweat even on him look really good. An added bonus was that the V-neck was so tight, it literally clung. He definitely keeps in great shape for a nearly 40-year-old. It was really lucky he never caught me staring that weekend.

It's pathetic and quite possibly weird, really. But my excitement on the weekends at Kate's seem to exist of secretly observing her dad's every move, watching him and admiring him from afar. I just seriously have never liked a man as much as I like Kate's dad. Not even any guys from school can compare to the deliciousness that is Kate's father.

I've also been secretly wheedling information out from Kate about him, though of course, I make it seem casual and nonchalant, my questions. Like last weekend, while Kate was doing my nails a pretty green color in her room, I'd asked about her Mom.

"Mom and dad used to fight a lot, I can't really remember why though. And it didn't take her long to meet her boyfriend. I think they got together, like, three days after the divorce was settled."

I'd waited a moment strategically before pressing for more information. "And what's her new boyfriend like? Is he nice?"

"I haven't really decided yet. He can be okay. But he's got nothing on my dad, you know?"

I'd thought to myself while trying to restrain a smile that I do know. No one can have anything on her dad.

So after some more pressing, I'd worked out that her Mom had started seeing this guy that's her now-boyfriend before her and Kate's dad even officially broke up. In a sense, you could call it cheating or having an affair. She hadn't even finalized the divorce when she'd started seeing the new guy behind Christian's back. I guess, after knowing that, you can't really blame Mr Grey for being reluctant to meet someone new. It must be hurtful, being cheated on and to know now that your ex is now dating that guy she left you for. Really, I've thought about it too much the past few days. It's no wonder he comes across as so lonely then.

It's been three years apparently since they officially divorced and Kate said he still hasn't so much as gone out on a date with someone new. Three years is an extremely long time, but then, what would I know? I've been single since pretty much birth, I haven't even had a first boyfriend yet. But still.

* * *

The following weekend, staying over at Kate's, I get my first realization that it's incredibly hard. It's incredibly hard to act remotely normal when you're nursing a thing for your friend's father big time.

Kate and I are sitting in her living room, on her large U-shaped, 8 seat couch, watching her choice in a moving for tonight because it's her turn. Last time, when it was my turn, I'd chosen a recent adaptation of one of my favorite novels. Now, tonight it's Kate's turn, and she picked The Notebook, one of her all-time favorites which I've seen literally fifty times already.

I've got my feet tucked in beneath me, while Kate lays lengthwise down the side of the couch, her head resting in my lap. We're just at the part where Allie and Noah meet again, years later, when her dad finally enters the room, having finished whatever it is he has to do as part of business in his office area.

The instance he comes in, even although it's dark with just the lights from the screen flickering around us, my eyes immediately go to him, taking notice. Really, it's impossible to keep my eyes from being drawn to him. Tonight, he's wearing knee-length shorts and a button-down black shirt, looking both casual yet summery. It isn't even summer yet but admittedly, I love the excuse to look at his legs.

"What are you girl's watching tonight?" he asks over the big reunion on the TV and Kate shushes him, her eyes glued to the screen.

He squeezes in beside me, his forearm and the side of his kneecap brushing against mine, and I have never felt more physically aware of someone else in my entire life. It's lucky the lights are off because, no doubt, I would be lobster red over the skin-to-skin contact of just his mere knee alone. It's sort of squishy on the couch, because Kate's taking mostly one side of it up, but now I have never been more privately thankful for her taking up all of the room. Christian, Mr Grey, is sitting squished up beside me for once, and it has never felt better.

I try to focus on the screen, though my heart is racing. "We're watching The Notebook," I tell him, trying not to glance down at his knees.

"Why am I not surprised?"

My nervous laughter is drowned out by the loud romantic music coming from the speakers.

"Don't tell me that you love this movie also, Anastasia?" I peek over at him out of the corner of my eye. His body is slightly angled towards me, his head too. Which is natural, I suppose, since the movie is playing too loud. "What is it about The Notebook that drives most women crazy?"

"I don't like this movie actually," I point out, but I can't be sure if he can hear me or not. "But it was Kate's choice for a movie tonight. I would have been perfectly happy with watching something else." I let myself look at him quickly, to find that he is looking at me now. His face is closer than I realized, only because we're sitting squished on the couch, I suppose. I smile and quickly look forward, embarrassed. "I think it might have something to do with Ryan Gosling though, why so many women like this movie. The actor."

"Do you have a thing for Ryan Gosling?" He's just being friendly, I have to remind myself to tame myself down. Everything he says is just because he's trying to be nice, it's just the way he is. He's a nice guy that way.

"Honestly? Ryan Gosling isn't really my type."

"Oh? So someone your age has a type? What's your type then?"

Yeah, there's no need to hyperventilate right now. Again, he's just being friendly. "I don't know." I weave my fingers through the length of my dark hair, stealing a look in his direction again. His gray eyes shine back at me in the dark, he's watching me. "I guess I might like older men maybe," I hear myself say before I can stop myself. "Ryan Gosling in this movie is a little too young for me honestly." I don't know what I'm doing. Okay, maybe I'm attempting to flirt, something I have never been all that good with. It just makes me feel awkward. "How come you don't like this movie?"

My eyes catch onto his hand as he reaches down, scratching his knee. God, even his hands are beautiful. His fingers. I wonder what would happen if I ever tried to hold his hand. Which I would never, of course. I am not that daring or bold, I'm too chicken.

"I don't like romance movies anymore." For some reason, that doesn't surprise me. I guess I wouldn't like romantic movies anymore either if someone I loved left me for another person after a very long time of marriage.

"Well, while I don't like this movie much, I sort of like romance. I mean, I love reading the classics so I sort of have to."

"The classics? Which books do you like reading?"

I think this is the most conversation we have had since I've started sleeping over here. Our conversations are usually non-personal, every day stuff. But finally, it seems to be getting somewhere personal. "British literature mostly."

"As in Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters? Of course you'd like romance then."

"Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters are good, but I like other authors too. Like Thomas Hardy."

"He's good. What about William Shakespeare?"

"I've tried reading some of his work, but I couldn't really get into it that much," I admit, feeling a bit sad that our conversation on books has left me absurdly slightly dizzy with happiness. Kate usually gets annoyed if I speak about whatever novel I'm reading. No one I really know wants to talk books with me.

"Then what about the great American fiction writers? Richard Yates or Kurt Vonnegut?" This is like a dream come true, actually speaking to someone who seems just as interested as I am in speaking books, instead of watching some silly movie Kate and I have seen a billion times already. "John Steinbeck or F. Scott Fitzgerald even? You're missing out on some excellent pieces of literature if you just mainly focus exclusively on British writers?"

"F. Scott Fitzgerald, as in the author of The Great Gatsby? I love that novel."

"Then you have good taste," he says, and I think he sounds pleased. "Better taste than my daughter anyway."

We fall silent for a moment and when I steal another look over at him, I see him watching the TV. During our conversation on books, he must have instinctively moved closer to hear me, because I become aware that his legs are more sprawled apart, his knee still lightly touching mine, his shoulder touching my shoulder. I hate how aware I am, yet I like it too, his closeness. His shirt is unbuttoned, the collar loose around his neck. I think I can see small smatterings of curly dark hair there. I wonder what color his hair is in other places. The hair travelling down his stomach and belly, too. If he...

"So what music do you like listening to?" he asks. I tear my eyes away from the side of his face and his chest quickly.

"Um, a lot of different music. The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Coldplay. You?"

He leans his head closer, putting his mouth near my ear. My heart stutters. "I would sacrifice anything come what might, for the sake of having you near, in spite of the warning voice that comes in the night, and repeats - how it yells in my ear, Don't you know, little fool, you never can win?"

Every word spoken in my ear, it makes my heart beat faster and faster as I try to process and understand what he's saying. Is he saying all of that in reference to me or am I just being... stupid?

"What?" I laugh, feeling my cheeks redden. I have no idea whether it's a poem or something. I was asking him about what music he likes to listen to, so why this? Really, I feel too happy by his closeness that I can't be bothered trying to understand.

"Why not use your mentality - step up, wake up to reality? But each time I do just the thought of you, makes me stop just before I begin," he continues, despite my awkward laughter. "'Cause I've got you under my skin." He leans back after the last part and I feel stupid then as I realize. Lyrics. They're just lyrics to a song, not him expressing his interest in me or anything like that. Hopeful thinking.

"I've Got You Under My Skin," I breathe in understanding. "I recognize that song."

"Frank Sinatra. He's one of my favorites."

"That makes sense then," I mutter. "I'm familiar with that song."

Suddenly Kate's head moves from my lap and she turns around to stare at us. Were we talking too loud? Quickly, I pretend to watch The Notebook again, even although my cheeks still feel really warm after he spoke those lyrics in my ear. Eventually Kate moves, staring back at the screen again, returning to watching her choice in movie. I feel my entire body sag in relief when she does. Terrible as it is, this feels like an exciting game. I feel elated that Mr Grey, Christian, is finally talking to me properly, actually getting to know me, yet we're trying to be quiet, hiding it from his daughter. It's thrilling and fun.

"So do you and Kate have most classes at school together?" he asks me, starting a new conversation. I feel a little depressed that he wants to ask about school and Kate now, but hey, what can I do?

"Most of them, yeah." My voice sounds too low, too breathless still after him being close and speaking the lyrics in my ear. I have to clear my throat. "Except for Biology and English. Kate didn't choose to do English as a subject this year, because she's always hated it."

"And is she seeing anyone? Is there any... boys that you know of that she likes?" I look over at him while licking my lips, peering at him through my lashes questioningly. "The reason I ask is that Kate is very quiet and private about anything like that. I'm simply curious."

Damn. Just like that, I'm his daughter's best friend again. Someone who knows the most about her, someone he can get answers from. "Not that I know of, Mr Grey." I peer down at my hands, playing with my fingers. "The reason that she's quiet about that sort of thing is only because she isn't interested in anyone, I guess. She hasn't really talked to me about anything like that."

"And she seems happy? She seems alright to you?"

"Yes, she's fine, Mr Grey. Kate's fine and there's really nothing for you to worry about. I promise."

* * *

Later in Kate's bedroom, lying in her bed, I feel that urge to use the bathroom. It's only 12.30 at night according to her alarm clock, but after watching a few more movies on her couch, we had felt ready to call it a night and head to bed. Dressed in just flannel pajama bottoms and a sleeveless T-shirt, my usual modest pajama wear, I climb out from beneath her sheets, hoping to not wake her while I sneak out for a quick bathroom run.

It's quiet and dark in the hallway of her house. As I pad my way barefooted down the hallway, trying to locate the bathroom in the dark, I notice a light on in one of the rooms. I may be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure that room belongs to her dad, Christian. Kate showed me it once. He must still be awake.

I shouldn't do it but I can't help it. I'm too curious.

I sneak down towards the light, noticing the door to his room is slightly ajar. My heart is pounding as I reach it, and I inhale in quietly through my nose before lifting my hand, pushing the door further open with my fingers cautiously. Leaning closer, I peer in through the crack.

It's definitely his bedroom, lit up by the light on the ceiling. I spot his bed, but it's empty. He isn't inside it yet. If I get caught snooping, I know it will be dangerous. Mortifying even, but I take my chances. I just want to know what he's doing at this hour, even if it is none of my business at all.

Pushing the door a few inches more apart, I slip my head in, peering around his room. His room doesn't look anything all that fancy and special, really. There's his large bed. A few dressers near it with a table lamp. An old armchair near the window. I wonder if he kept his room how it was even when he was with his ex wife. Did they sleep together in this room? Of course they did, because they were married. It seems ridiculous to wonder such a thing, but I can't help it.

Biting my bottom lip, I listen carefully. Then I hear movement and my eyes whirl to the sound.

There's another room, which seems to be his own private bathroom. I can hear the distant hum of a fan from the light. Stepping forward on the tips of my toes, I shove my body in through the crack in the door, and then I see him, standing there, in his bathroom, his back to me.

He isn't wearing a shirt, so he's naked from the head down towards his waist. He's wearing sleep pants, a baggy deep grey color, so he isn't completely naked. I just get to see his back, his broad shoulders, the curve of his spine. Even the sight of his bare shoulders and back alone, the side of his face, he's delicious.

And he's shaving, it would seem.

He's standing in front of the bathroom mirror, over the sink, his head tilted to the side. He glides a razor down the side of his face with confident, smooth strokes. I've started to become used to him with a stubble growth for the past few weekends of sleeping over, that it feels slightly weird, the thought of seeing him completely clean-shaven again.

I would love to offer to help him. The fantasy of him accepting my offer to help him shave, the chance to feel his stubble beneath my fingers, how rough it would feel, how... prickly even... it would feel if he brushed his chin between my thighs, if he kissed his way up my knees, his mouth parted a little, his stubble rubbing on me...

But clean shaven or stubble, he's still gorgeous either way. And I'm just spying on him, in his own private room, like a weirdo while he shaves his face...

Getting a good grip on myself, I force myself to move, stepping backwards slowly out from the room. I feel ashamed of myself as I make it to the other bathroom, unseen, to pee. If he ever caught me, if he'd turned and seen me staring... I can only just imagine how strange he would think I am. But there's just something about him.

Staring at him, it's... addictive. Intoxicating, even.

I feel like I could stare at him for hours.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast when Kate gets ready to drop me off home in her car, Mr Grey stops me by calling out my name. I swallow nervously while tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear as he appears carrying a few heavy looking books. It feels somehow awkward and disturbing, seeing him cleanly-shaven while knowing I'd sneaked in last night to watch him shave without him knowing. But at least he never caught me, so I shouldn't feel too awkward about it.

"After our conversation last night, I thought you might want to read these."

He's just being nice, I repeat to myself as I take the books from him in surprise, reading the covers. He's given me copies of The Great Gatsby, East of Eden, and Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. I've read The Great Gatsby before, but I haven't East of Eden or Revolutionary Road. I've seen the movie adaptations though.

"They're just sitting in my office bookshelf gathering dust, so I figured you might have use for them," he adds.

I'm pleased he remembers our conversations from last night while on the couch. I smile up at him nervously, feeling my cheeks redden. "Thank you, Mr Grey. I look forward to reading them."

"You're welcome, Anastasia. And, as I've said many times before, please, call me Christian."

"Christian," I murmur softly, obeying him. "Thank you, that's sweet." I know he probably only means it to be nice, but I can't help reading more into it, like most of our interactions the past 7 times of sleeping over here.

Kate bounds down the stairs, interrupting our moment. Or well, what I feel is a moment.

"You ready?" she asks. I glance down at the books again, flustered in an embarrassing way.

"Yep, I'm all set, Kate."

"You're giving Ana some of your lame books, I see," she adds to her dad, having noticed the books of his that I'm holding in my hands. "Ana will love them. She's obsessed with reading."

"I wouldn't say I'm obsessed, Kate," I mutter defensively. "I just like reading."

When I glance up at Christian one last time while Kate opens the door, I notice him staring at me. I smile at him nervously, thanking him again for the books while following Kate out.

Stupid as it is, I would kill for him to notice me in more than just a his-daughter's-friend kind of way. He really is incredible, both in the looks department, and in the everything else department. I cannot believe he bothered to remember our conversation and that he gave me some of his books. It was so kind of him, and it's nice to think that he cared enough to recall our conversation. Again, I know I am reading way too much into it, but I will treasure every delicate page of these books.

It's exciting to think he gave me something that he owns, something that he read and touched himself with his fingers as he turned the page. Now I'll be touching something he touched too. I definitely am in way too deep than I first realized.

HOPING THIS WAS OKAY. VERY SORRY AGAIN FOR TAKING A LONG TIME, I'VE BEEN SICK SO HOPE THIS CHAPTER WASN'T BADLY WRITTEN. I ALSO WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK WITH THE PACING? IT WILL BE A SLOW BUILD, AS I'M TRYING TO MAKE IT AS REALISTIC AS POSSIBLE HOPE IT ISN'T ANNOYING


	4. Chapter 4

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS AND ALERTS, I AM REALLY SURPRISED AND GRATEFUL. SORRY IF ITS BORING, HOPEFULLY THIS ONE WILL BE A BIT MORE EXCITING.

IN TOO DEEP

Chapter 4

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

It's just nearing midnight when I decide to call it a night. I click off the lamp in my study, heading to my bedroom. On the way there, I check and make sure Kate's still asleep and in bed. I open the door to her room, listening to the faint heavy breathing noises she makes. Everything seems fine there, so I close the door carefully as not to wake her, then make my way upstairs.

It still feels so fucking weird sleeping alone. Even after 3 years since the divorce, I don't think I've really gotten over it. Hell, there is a lot of things I haven't gotten used to.

Shoving my phone into its charger near my bedside table, I unbuckle my belt, then unbutton my shorts, sliding out of them. I fold them neatly before removing my shirt, folding that too, then I place them back neatly in my wardrobe. My empty bed calls to me, and as I step towards it while slipping off my socks, my phone goes off with a vibration.

I rub my eyes and around my face, sighing heavily as I sit on the mattress, reaching for my phone. My phone tells me I've got a text, and at this hour. This is unusual. Usually I don't receive texts at this time of the night, unless my assistant is working late hours and she urgently needs something from me. Yanking back the sheets, I slide my legs and feet beneath them, making myself comfortable, propping myself up with an elbow while I rest on my side to read it, thumbing it open.

 _I hope this isn't too weird, me texting you, but it's Ana, Kate's friend. Remember me? ;) Anyway, I guess I just wanted to thank you again. Both for you allowing me to sleep over for so many weekends as well as the books you lent me. I've already read straight through Gatsby, and am now onto chapter one of Revolutionary Road. Thank you._

How bizarre. Kate's best and closest friend Anastasia is texting me at midnight. I don't even know how she got my phone number in the first place, unless Kate gave it to her? Either way, it's unexpected. And surprisingly, not at all unwelcome, although I don't know why she would want to text me, dirty old man that I probably am to her.

I press down on the 'Reply' button, still feeling shocked. This hasn't happened to me before, obviously. With one of Kate's friends writing to me. Then again, Kate hasn't had many friends throughout the years. Anastasia has really only been the first she's bothered to bring home.

In all the times I've met and spoken to her while she's slept over, Anastasia has seemed like a good, polite young girl. Sometimes, oddly enough, she seems almost older than Kate is. Sometimes it's easy to forget she's 17, just like my daughter. She's been well-spoken and polite, albeit shy and reserved in all the times I've spoken to her. Her interest and taste is books is something I hadn't been expecting for a girl her age. Kate certainly couldn't care less about reading.

 _Hello Anastasia,_

 _As I said earlier on today, the books were just sitting there, gathering dust. Kate isn't interested in reading them, so I'm pleased you are finding use for them. Please, there is no need to thank me. You're very welcome._

I hesitate, wondering whether I should initiate more texting from her. Would that be inappropriate? I peer up at the small digits on the corner of the phone screen that tell the time. Surprisingly, the fatigue and tiredness has immediately seemed to leech out of my body, all due to receiving the text from Anastasia. Now, I feel wide-awake, curious and interested. What harm would there be in responding to her texts?

I add before sending, _How did you find The Great Gatsby after finishing it? What's your thoughts_?

I hit send, lounging back against the pillow, waiting for her to reply. My phone vibrates in my hand barely two minutes later. This girl is impressively fast with using her phone to text.

 _I found it incredibly sad. I saw the latest movie adaptation and thought that was great, but the book was even sadder, especially Jay Gatsby's character and background into how he became what he was. I also thought the character Daisy was more loathsome in the book. She truly didn't deserve him._

My phone goes off seconds later with little faces, one that looks as though it's crying. Then another face with devil horns. How good and quick she is with using technology in comparison to me is embarrassing. I don't even know how to use the face symbols, even although Kate tried to unsuccessfully instruct me on how to do it several times.

I lick my lips and rub my sore eyes with my fingertips, wondering what to say in response. Then it hits me.

 _Of course, naturally you would focus on the romantic element of the novel while completely dismissing what the author truly intended to say._

I can't figure out or remember how to do a winking face to show I'm teasing her, but I hope she gets it.

She replies thirty seconds later.

 _Well, as I said, I love the classics._ _Romance always is an extremely important plot element to me. ;) What do you think the author was intending to say between the lines?_

I sit up, pressing 'Reply'. Strange thing is, I realize I'm smiling. She's got me smiling while reading her texts, something I usually rarely experience lately. This is rather enjoyable, writing to her. Even more enjoyable than I first thought it would be.

 _The theme of The Great Gatsby was more important than the plot element of romance, I think. It was used as a metaphor for the Great American Dream during the 1920's, the entire story._

If it were Kate I were saying this out loud to, she'd roll her eyes and ignore me, accusing me of lecturing her. Usually Kate finds the things I wish to speak in depth about boring. I can't tell if I'm boring Anastasia at all.

Her response comes a minute later: _I thought Gatsby's ultimate dream was marrying Daisy because he loved her?_

And apparently I am not boring her after all...

She definitely is different from Kate, in ways I never knew possible. How can a girl my daughter's age have so much interest in what other people wish to say? How can a girl her age respond so differently?

 _That was part of his dream, sure. To obtain Daisy's love. But it was also to obtain the ultimate American Dream that Fitzgerald assumed was true. Becoming rich, prosperity, that sort of thing._ Even as I read what I've written through again to make sure it's spelled correctly, it occurs to me how boring I sound. Perhaps my daughter is right? _Am I boring you yet?_ I decide to add before hitting send, hopefully to inject some humor so she doesn't think I'm completely banal.

Speedily, she sends me a laughing face. Then a winking face. How fast she is able to move her fingers is awe-inspiring.

 _Believe it or not, I'm not even halfway to being bored. Then again I don't think you could ever bore me._

My heart feels alight with warmth at her words. It isn't everyday someone says something nice or reassuring to me. Kate's mother always used to complain that I was a workaholic, that I was always too straight-faced.

After that, she sends me a face that looks abashed with red cheeks. I'm assuming that means she's feeling shy or that she's blushing? I probably shouldn't find it adorable of her, yet I do.

 _Why are you up this late? It's past midnight and you have school tomorrow? Does your mother know you're up?_ I hit 'reply' before I can even reconsider what I'm typing. My old father instincts have risen up to the surface. The fact she is up at midnight when she ought to be sleeping like my daughter is, it's infuriating. What's even more astounding is that she's still awake, texting me, of all people. Doesn't she have countless boys her own age to text instead of men more than half her age?

She replies:

 _My mom doesn't really care what time I stay up until. Usually I'm up at all ridiculous hours of the night reading or studying anyway, so she isn't too concerned. :) You're very avuncular._

I don't even realize I'm laughing until a chuckle escapes my mouth. It really has been a long, long time since I felt this good or happy to write to someone else. _Avuncular? Do you even know what that word means?_

Barely a second later, she's at it again with those faces. Then she sends:

 _I do actually. And that's what you are._

I shake my head, then try not to smile any longer. _Then you have a very interesting vocabulary for someone your age. The way Kate likes to put it, is that I'm either boring, bossy or lame._

 _Neither three_. She replies. Then: _You are neither boring, bossy or lame. To me anyway._

I smile at her texts, then stop myself again, shaking my head as the guilt and feelings of sheer stupidity settle in. What am I doing really? Why am I responding to her, a girl my daughters age? My daughters friend? This is hugely inappropriate. Doesn't she have boys her own age she can text?

I write: _Why are you writing to me? Don't you have plenty of boys you like your own age from school that you can write to?_

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

His text comes through and I feel myself getting even redder than I thought humanly possible as I read it.

 _Why are you writing to me? Don't you have plenty of boys you like your own age from school that you can write to?_

I suppose he's right. It's probably weird, but I couldn't resist. I've had his phone number in my phone for a while now. Kate put it in and saved it, just in case she needed to text her dad using my phone if she didn't have any money left to do it. It was sort of an impulse thing, deciding to text Mr Grey after leaving his house this morning. I just felt I had to thank him for the books though.

I bite my lip, wondering what to write back, hating how squeamish I feel at the thought of him sitting in bed, just like I am, writing back. The thought never even crossed my mind that he would write back. I just thought he'd either be creeped out or ignore my text completely.

 _I'm writing to you because I find guys my age are usually incapable of holding scintillating conversation with me. I find someone like you to be much more interesting._

I send it, then feel myself flush again. I hope that wasn't too much, saying all of that? But it's true. I find him to be so interesting.

Without thinking, I type out another text, hitting send: _When I got home, I listened to that Frank Sinatra song you mentioned on YouTube. I've Got You Under My Skin. Great song ;)_

And it's true, I really did. As soon as I got home, I was plugging in my laptop, listening to the song that he said was one of his favorites. I didn't really think that sort of song would be to my tastes, but since it was him who likes it, I think it automatically made me like it, too.

I wait for him to reply, gnawing on my fingernails anxiously.

And wait. And wait. Two minutes goes by. Have I said too much? Has he fallen asleep now? Does he not want to write to me anymore? Should I take that as a hint?

But then, to my relief: _You remembered me saying I love that song?_

I breathe out slowly through my lips, feeling better now that he's replied. _Of course I did. Frank Sinatra has an amazing crooning, sensual voice. I feel like I could almost fall asleep listening to him. You have great taste._

I cringe as I re-read what I've written. I sound so gushing and smitten, which I am, but it's embarrassing. I hope he doesn't notice.

 _Not according to Kate, I don't. She hates that song with a fiery passion._

I laugh while settling back comfortably into my pillow, my face feeling too hot. I feel like I'm glowing. I send: _Somehow that doesn't surprise me. I can imagine Kate saying that, but she's wrong._

A wild, sudden impulse makes me want to ask him what he's wearing, which would be completely and utterly foolish. I would never be brave enough to, but I feel all sort of coy just imagining myself doing it.

 _Thank you, you're sweet,_ he replies about 30 seconds later.

I'm sweet. He thinks I'm sweet. Hopefully that's a good thing?

I glance over at the clock on my bedside table while still smiling. I should really get to sleep unfortunately, much as I would love to continue texting to him. I realize we've been texting back and forth for over 15 minutes.

 _I have to go to bed now, Mr Grey. But thank you again._

Setting my phone down with a sigh, I reach over, shutting off my lamp, my bedroom falling into darkness. Then my phone lights up with his response.

 _Goodnight then, Anastasia. Don't thank me. Sweet dreams._

I sigh again while tucking my arms beneath the sheets, rolling over onto my side. I cannot believe he was texting me, and that I was texting him. I cannot believe he actually replied and was writing to me. Kate's dad, her gorgeous father. Who would have thought?

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

After sending her a goodnight message, I wait for a moment for her to respond. Once I realize that she probably isn't going to, I set the alarm on my phone then reach over, placing it on the bedside table.

That was certainly an interesting turn of events, texting with Anastasia.

Shutting off my lamp, I shuffle down into the sheets, resting my head against the pillow. One arm goes behind my head as I stare up at the dark ceiling, my fingers combing back my hair.

A bewildered chuckle tears through my mouth as I shake my head up at the ceiling. I cannot believe she even bothered to remember me telling her that I'm a humongous fan of Frank Sinatra, that I love his music. I cannot believe she actually listened to it and then commended my taste of music; me, someone who is probably nothing more than an old fogey to her.

She's certainly a lot different from Kate. Open-minded, as far as reading or listening to a vast range of literature and music, whereas my daughter is pig-headed and set in her ways.

Somehow, I can't wash off the sensation that what I was doing, in responding to Anastasia's texts, was immoral or wrong. But it was only something innocuous and amusing, nothing anything serious.

As my alarm goes off at 7.00 in the morning, I get out of bed, heading to the shower to get cleaned up and fresh for the day of work ahead of me. Taking my phone into the bathroom with me, I realize I'd received a text that I mustn't have heard when waking.

I open it, discovering it's from Anastasia yet again.

 _Morning, Mr Grey ;)_

Apparently she sent it 10 minutes ago. Kate usually screams at me when I have to force her to get up early for school. Anastasia is evidently different, having sent me the text just before 7 am. Like last night, I catch myself grinning as I lean against the cool tiles, writing back.

 _Good morning to you too, Anastasia. You're an early bird._

Leaving my phone by the sink, I race back into the room, grabbing a clean pair of underwear, socks, and a fresh business suit and tie for the day ahead of me. My phone vibrates loudly just as I'm putting the clothes on the floor.

 _Well, what's that saying? The early bird catches the worm?_  
 _Anyway, hope you have a good day._

It's slightly disarming, how fucking happy her texts make me. What is she doing to me, this friend of Kate's? Here I am, grinning, and usually, I haven't found the humorous side into many things for quite a while. Yet somehow, with her, she seems to bring it out of me so effortlessly.

I reply: _Yes, that is indeed the right saying._  
 _You have a great day also. Please keep my daughter in line._

My phone goes off multiple times while I'm peeing. I step out of my underwear, kicking it away with my feet. I check my phone before climbing into the shower.

She's sent me a hand-gesture symbol, a thumbs-up sign, as well as a few faces.

 _You can count on me, Mr Grey. I'll make sure she's on her best behavior._

Really, what is it about this girl? I never anticipated that all it would take was a few texts from a girl my daughter's age to start actually feeling reasonably jovial again. Laughing like this, smiling, feeling amused... it's been far too long.

Despite how inappropriate it no doubt is, texting my daughter's friend, encouraging her, I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again in a long time. Things have been incredibly difficult since what happened 3 years ago, what with the divorce and Kate's mother leaving me and immediately shacking up with another man.

It's nice; the _feeling_ of being listened to, that someone is showing genuine interest in me, someone who seems as though they sincerely look up to me and value my output and what I have to say.

It makes me feel strangely younger again, lighter. Almost like I was those years ago, back in high school, when I first got with Kate's mother. The laughing, the smiling, the juvenile jokes, the secretive communicating. Only difference is, this girl is years younger than me, I'm no doubt an old boring fogey to her that she's texting out of pity, and she's my daughter's closest friend.

* * *

Finishing work at 6 PM, I get ready to leave the office, shutting the blinds and gathering all my notes. Then I shut off my computer and make sure my desk is orderly. That's when my phone vibrates again.

I snatch it up, opening the text. Then I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hide the undoubtedly stupid smile that comes across my face. I am a stupid, stupid foolish man. I should not be this happy or amused.

 _Hi, it's me again. Ana._  
 _Just wondering if you've had a good day? Sorry if my texting you is bothering you? If it is, I promise I'll stop the instance you say so. As for Kate, I kept her well in line today. We studied after school in the library. Hope that makes you happy?_

I should say that yes, she should stop, this is inappropriate behavior and it is bothering me. And yet, it's the last thing I find myself wanting to do. Sitting back in my chair, I reply:

 _You aren't bothering me at all, Anastasia, I can assure you. My day has been so-so, certainly not great. What is great however is hearing what you tell me about my daughter. I'm glad she's getting her homework done. How was your day?_

To keep myself busy while I wait for her reply, I straighten all the pencils on my desk. Then:

 _My day was okay, a bit boring though. :) Glad to hear that I'm not bothering you. I am happy to report that I am already halfway through Revolutionary Road. It's a lot more depressing than I expected it to be, reading the breakdowns of their marriage and the pressures they experienced during the era. Anyway, it's very interesting reading._

Another text from Anastasia, sent so quickly. Her fingers must be so nimble:

 _Also, I may have downloaded an entire album of Frank Sinatra's onto my IPod. Thank you for introducing me to him. He is so suave, I could listen to his voice all day._

I catch a chuckle into my palm before glancing around my empty, quiet office. This is why she is so different from my daughter, in astounding ways. I've never had someone actually like what I've liked before. I tried to introduce Kate to Frank Sinatra one year, but she acted disgusted, saying he's too jazzy and boring for her. It's nice to be the one to introduce a new sound of music to someone else.

 _Glad to hear it,_ I type back. _Welcome to the magical wonder that is Frank Sinatra. I have quite the collection of his albums. Maybe when you come around I can give you a few to borrow next time?_

How presumptuous of me, assuming she'd actually want me to lend her some albums. She's probably simply being nice and finds me as something inspiring pity. To be honest, it wouldn't surprise me if that was actually it. I've been a wreck since the divorce, my emotions ranging from bitter to resentfully angry and upset.

But then she texts back: _I would love that so much! Like you said, I've Got You Under My Skin is definitely one of his better songs. I keep listening to it on repeat._

 _It's an even better song to dance to, Kate's mother and I had it as our first dance song,_ I type back without thought. But by the time I start to regret it, it's too late and I've already pressed 'send'. Kate's mother and I danced to I've Got You Under My Skin at our wedding. In fact, it was our first dance theme song together. You'd think I'd loathe the song now, because obviously, our marriage turned to shit and she's a bitch. But oddly enough, I still love the song, regardless of what it reminds me of.

I shouldn't have sent that to her. It's way too personal. She does not need to know what Kate's mother and I had danced to during our wedding. Why the fuck had I told her that?

 _Oh. Does that song remind you of her?_

I squint at the words she's written back on the screen, gritting my teeth. We're getting too personal here. I shouldn't have told her that. But does that song remind me of Kate's bitch of a mother? No, not anymore frankly. I do remember dancing to it on our wedding night, but I've always liked that song for far longer.

 _No,_ I decide to write back. It doesn't remind me of her. _My father actually introduced me to that song when I was twelve years old._

That is frankly why I like the song so much; Remembering my foster father Carrick playing it to me when I was a kid. The song hasn't been tainted by the memory of the bitch ex and I dancing to it on our wedding night.

Her next text has warning bells going off inside my head. I shouldn't have told her, I shouldn't be doing this shit with my daughter's friend. I cannot even speak to anyone about this shit.

 _If you don't mind me asking, do you still love her?_

I clench down with my teeth, re-reading the word twice before shutting off my phone and rising to my feet, my forehead throbbing. I can't fucking answer that. Especially not to her. It's too personal, too fucking... everything.

I can't handle thinking about this shit. It's much easier pretending as though Kate's mother doesn't exist.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE? I KNOW IT IS PROBABLY SLOW MOVING AND BORING, SO I'M SORRY. I AM TRYING TO MAKE IT REALISTIC BUT IT'S PROBABLY JUST BAD. I'M NOT VERY GOOD AT WRITING SO SORRY, I GET SO NERVOUS


	5. Chapter 5

IN TOO DEEP

Chapter 5

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

After sending him the text asking whether Mr Grey still loves his ex wife or not, he doesn't reply back.

He doesn't the next day either. Or the next day.

By the time the weekend comes, things have been completely silent. I didn't try breaking the ice by sending him another text out of fear he'd probably be mad. Obviously I had offended him by asking him such a personal question, which is why he probably ignored my text and blanked me out. It's just so frustrating though, because I was beginning to enjoy us texting each other. It had been fun while it had lasted.

But now he is no longer texting me and I haven't had the courage to start it up again.

I wish he had told me that I had offended him if that were truly the case. I may be 17, but I like to think I'm mature enough to handle something like this. I can handle someone expressing their offense and I can respond responsibly by sincerely apologizing. I just hate that he hasn't texting me back.

On Friday, Kate and I do what is becoming our 'usual thing', which is me staying over for the weekend. At school, I'd brought some spare clothes and my pajama bottoms for the weekend, and my Mom had already given me permission to sleep over another weekend so long as Mr Grey didn't truly mind. Which Kate often assures me he doesn't. But after insulting him like I know I have, I can't be certain of that.

Kate drives her fancy new car towards her house while I sit beside her in the passenger's seat, feeling more anxious by the minute.

I can't seem to sit still and not fidget at the mere thought of seeing Mr Grey, I mean Christian, after texting him even although it's been 3 whole days since we last did. For some reason, I'm almost expecting things to be different between us now. I don't even know why, because I know realistically it's unlikely, but I can't help hoping. I can't help hoping that because, now we've broken the ice and have communicated secretly by texting each other without Kate knowing, that Mr Grey will loosen up a little and learn to trust me. Or something like that. I'm probably just being an idiot though, and getting my hopes up.

Once she indicates up into the long driveway, my heart twists at the sight when Kate goes speeding up manically towards the garage.

I see him immediately. Mr Grey, Christian, is in his garage, fussing around with his motorbike that Kate told me he likes to ride. Apparently he forbids Kate getting her bike licence- or so she said. Apparently he feels it's too dangerous for her to drive a motorbike.

He must have gotten the day off work or finished early. It becomes clear what he is doing when he stands from kneeling, moving back so Kate can squeeze the car into the narrow space in their garage without running him over. He watches her, pointing and directing her while Kate mumbles something about him being 'annoying' and how he 'doesn't have confidence' in her driving. Her words don't truly sink in; All I can seem is see, is him.

He's looking casual today, dressed in dark denim jeans and a light grey cashmere sweater. He has his sleeves on each arm rolled up to his elbows, and he's holding what looks like a sponge in the hand that isn't directing Kate where to steer sternly. He must be polishing his bike or cleaning it or something. It already looks perfectly clean though, the black and silver exterior.

He steps in front of her car, pointing to the front of it then at the garage wall behind him. Then he starts gesturing for her to move a bit forward through the windshield. I can feel my face brighten pathetically when his gray eyes flicker towards me from where I sit in the passenger's seat, and I can't help anticipating him mentioning something regarding our texts the instance I get out of Kate's car.

Which sadly doesn't seem to come, because he's too busy with his daughter...

Kate shuts off the engine, moaning in embarrassment again while I reach down, gathering my bag of clothes for the two nights I'm sleeping over, my heart racing in my chest. I hear them the instance Kate opens her door.

"God, Dad, I've had my license for over 6 months now. I think I know by now how to drive into the garage."

"I know that, sweetie, believe me, but you never seem to park close enough. Bring the car a bit closer next time." His term of endearment for her, harmless as it is, makes me smile pathetically as I unbuckle my seat-belt.

"Yeah, well, dad, it's pretty embarrassing. I mean, it's like you have no faith in my driving ability at all!" Kate slams her door and I can almost feel an argument approaching around the corner.

As I climb out, shoving the strap of my bag over my shoulder while closing the car door gently, I feel my face go warm as Christian's eyes drift to me again. I wait for him to finally make a comment about our texting session while Kate storms off ahead of me, huffing under her breath. She can be so patronizing towards Christian sometimes, which is unfair. She's my best friend and I love her, of course, but he doesn't deserve that.

"Hello, Anastasia," he says, and I think I see something flicker in his eyes before he nods once.

"Mr Grey," I breathe back in greeting. "Christian. Hi."

He glances back the way his daughter left, then that's it. He turns away, back towards his bike, kneeling again, soaking the sponge in a bucket of water.

I feel pathetically crestfallen when he doesn't say anything else. He doesn't mention our conversations during texting at all. But when I move around the car, squeezing to get through the narrow space between his bike and the side of Kate's car, I feel my heart jump start when he suddenly reaches out, laying his hand on the lower part of my back while he stands quickly.

"Watch the wet paving on the way through so you don't slip, won't you, sweetie?" He mutters softly. "It tends to get slippery." And then he moves his hand away, turning back to his motorbike.

The touch is brief and like he's just trying to be considerate, warning me against slipping on the wet concrete out of concern rather than anything else. Still, I feel the hugest grin come across my face, around my chest area and cheeks feeling bathed in warmth.

Plus, he just called me sweetie. It is the same harmless endearment he uses on his daughter frequently, but it's still an endearment. The name combined with his spine-tingling voice alone, it's heaven.

I know it's stupid how a silly thing like him touching me on my back can make my day. But it does.

* * *

"What's for dinner?" Mr Grey calls curiously later that night after finally coming in from doing whatever else it was that he was doing while out in his garage.

Kate and I have been lounging around on the couch, watching TV. Kate was starting to complain about feeling hungry, so she already has her phone on, looking at the menu for the closest pizza place in town.

"We were thinking pizza tonight actually," Kate replies, tapping on the delivery option on the screen. "We can get pizza delivered at the same place where we got pizza that time before?"

I try not to stare when he comes into view after washing his hands from in the kitchen sink. He comes out towards us, his hands still wet, which he wipes dry on a bunched up hand towel. I notice grease or oil smear stains on his fingertips. Admittedly, I love his hands, weird as that probably is. The veins protruding in the back of them around his knuckles, how long and thick his fingers are. His hands are so masculine and I bet they'd feel great touching me beneath my clothes.

The thought makes me feel red and I avert my eyes quickly, peering down at the bright screen on Kate's phone while biting my bottom lip. Somehow I feel him looking at me, and when I peek up quickly before glancing down again, I notice that he actually is. My embarrassment grows.

"Yum, they have Camembert and chicken pizza," Kate goes on, clueless. "And that pepperoni and cheese one that you liked?"

"You know what I like," Mr Grey says. "And you know my credit card details."

"So the Camembert and chicken and the pepperoni and cheese pizza? I'll make the order online and get them to deliver?"

I feel like I can't even concentrate on thinking about which pizzas sound good right now. This happens often whenever Kate's dad is around though.

It takes fifteen minutes for the pizza delivery guy to arrive with the pizzas. Kate rushes to answer the door, while I make myself useful in heading out to their kitchen to grab us all some plates. I've stayed here so many times now that I am practically familiar with where everything is. I'm just reaching up to the middle shelf to get 3 plates when I hear someone come into the room. I glance behind my shoulder, and my heart rate is practically sky-rocketing high again. It's Christian, Mr Grey.

"Need some help with reaching those, Anastasia?" he asks, almost from right behind me, sounding amused.

"No, thank you. I think I've got it." Hopping up onto my tiptoes, I manage to get the 3 plates down. I turn to look at him again while clutching the porcelain plates tightly to my chest. He's already onto grabbing the paper towel. Now that we're alone in his kitchen and Kate's not anywhere inside, I decide to bite the bullet and mention our texting session. "I hope I haven't, um, offended you at all. Have I, Mr Grey?"

He gives me a blank look for a fleeting second. "Offended me with what?" He sounds like he doesn't even remember our texting and the way he practically ignored me after asking what I did.

"You didn't respond to my text, that's all." My voice sounds too hesitant. "After you didn't, I guess I was worried that I may have offended you by asking what I did?"

"You didn't offend me at all, Anastasia." It's like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I sigh on the inside in relief. "I just wasn't sure how to respond."

"Well, I hope you'd feel comfortable letting me know if I ever do end up offending you," I murmur to him, trying to look him in the eyes so he knows how honest I'm being. I end up holding his intense gray gaze for less than five seconds before I grow nervous and have to glance away again, down at the empty plates I'm holding in my hands. "I'm a big girl, after all. I'm sure I can handle it."

"You're a big girl?" he repeats quietly, and when I glance up, I see he's trying to hide a smile. His eyes are glimmering with amusement.

"Yes, I am," I whisper confidently. "I won't be upset or hurt if you tell me to mind my own business. If you feel I should or if I offend you, then please, just tell me."

"Fair enough. I'll keep that in mind, Anastasia."

At that, I head towards the living room carrying the plates. He follows a step behind me.

I'm assaulted by the beautiful smell of cooked pizza as I walk around the couch. Kate has already opened the pizza boxes, the spicy smell of pepperoni and the fragrance of melted Camembert cheese floating into the air. I set the plates on the table, sitting next to her, and then I'm hyper-aware when Mr Grey, Christian, chooses to sit beside me on the couch.

I've always become a nervous-eater when doing it in front of Kate's dad. Even more so. We dig in, each of us having our own plates. I notice that every time I reach for a fresh paper towel to use, every time I reach over for a new slice of pizza to put on my plate, my elbow keeps brushing up against Christian's arm. Or if I shift over in the seat the slightest bit, my knee keeps touching his, which is rather awkward yet nice at the same time. I pathetically live for those harmless, innocent touches and bumps.

"Mm, so good," Kate moans appreciatively while taking a huge slice of the pepperoni and cheese pizza she's holding. We both end up laughing out loud when a piece of pepperoni falls out of her mouth onto her shirt. Then I start to feel those self-conscious feelings settling in again, every time I eat at the house.

Pizza can be incredibly messy and greasy. Especially melted cheese. A stringy bit gets caught dangling from my mouth and I'm quick to wipe it off with my fingers, blushing when, as my eyes drift over to Mr Grey, I notice him staring at my mouth while he eats as well.

Why does everything seem incredibly awkward when you're nursing a huge crush on someone and admire everything about them?

I don't even think I'm truly paying attention to the TV in the background, it's just distant background noise. When I know it's safe to, I risk a glance over at Christian again. He's chewing on a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese pizza, his jaw muscles twitching. There's something about even the way he eats that always fascinates me. Well, who am I kidding? Many things he does I find interesting to watch, no matter how mundane and everyday they are.

Swallowing down the mouthful, he licks his lips, his tongue peeking out of his mouth slightly. Then he pops each fingertip into his mouth, sucking the grease and cheese off quietly. And then, to my horror, he looks my way, holding my gaze as he sucks his thumb tip. I'm sure it isn't supposed to be in anyway a move that he's making on me, because I'm just his daughters friend, and he doesn't seem the type to intentionally try to seduce or make the moves on anyone unfortunately. He's just naturally appealing in anything he does, I guess.

And he is Kate's dad, I remind myself, lowering my eyes to my plate. He is Kate's dad and nothing will ever happen. Stop it. Stop watching him all the time and swooning.

"Are you liking the pizza?" he asks in my ear, his voice low as he leans towards me on the couch.

"Um, yes. It's so delicious." I still can't meet his eyes so I smile down at the mess on my plate instead. "Thank you so much for letting me stay over and for buying dinner for us again."

"It's no problem. Really. I'm always happy to." I notice out of the corner of my eye his arm lift as he uses a hand to run his fingers slowly through his hair.

I try to think frantically of something more to say, not wanting to lose the chance to speak more to him about things. "I've almost finished Revolutionary Road completely."

"Have you?" I think he sounds pleased. "That didn't take you long?"

"I know. But I'm usually a fast reader," I can't help pointing out proudly. "Once I start a novel it usually takes me less than a week to finish it completely before I move onto something else. I like devouring my books."

"What do you think of it so far?" he asks curiously. I know he's probably just being friendly but it also seems as though he is truly interested in my view and opinions. I like it, and it isn't something I've had much before, someone being truly interested in my opinions.

"Well, like with what you said, about The Great Gatsby's theme being more along the lines of the American dream rather than the whole romance angle, I think I've picked hints of that up in Revolutionary Road as well," I explain to him, pleased the hesitance and wavering tone of nerves is leaving my voice now. I always feel more comfortable talking about things I am completely certain of. "The married couple were trying to find their own dream life as well, to break the monotony of a 50's era existence." When I glance over at him, I see Mr Grey is staring right at my face, listening intently, his bold gray eyes focused on only me.

I think that's why I've come to enjoy speaking to him most of all, above anyone else, I think. He isn't as easily distracted as boys are at school. He seems to actually truly care and it's nice to talk to him, no matter how awkward he makes me feel due to how attractive and amazing I find him.

"You're very intuitive for someone your age," he mutters, and I beam at his compliment. "Has anyone told you that before?"

"No," I whisper, feeling coy all of a sudden. "Not really." Wow, he's complimenting me. He finds me intuitive. I rarely get nice things said about me, but since it's Christian telling me that, it really means the world.

"Well, you are. Which reminds me." Placing his empty plate down on the table, he stands, moving away from the couch. He disappears for a moment, then reappears holding something in his hands. He plops back down beside me, his elbow brushing against mine. I realize it's the albums he mentioned on lending me by text. The Frank Sinatra ones. "These are what I consider his best albums that he released," he explains, passing them to me. I notice our fingers touch briefly, but it no doubt means way more to me than it does him. "It's hard because there are so many that he released throughout the years, but these are what I personally consider his best songs." He taps one of the CD covers with a finger.

Then Mr Grey launches into talking about Frank Sinatra as a person, his life and how he died, and I can literally feel his enthusiasm about the singer. It's infectious, really. He seems so passionate about talking about him, and I can't help smiling and hanging onto his every word. After a while of talking, he falls silent, running his hand through his hair.

He clears his throat, glancing away from me. "Sorry," he mutters, seeming embarrassed. "I'm no doubt boring you with getting into his whole back history."

"No, not at all, Christian," I assure him, which I mean. "Like I said, you..." I hesitate, biting my lip. I have to glance down at the CD covers, my cheeks going red. "You really don't bore me at all. Honestly, I think you're pretty much the most interesting person that I know." I'm not sure if I've overstepped a line, telling him that.

When I peek up at his face quickly, shyly, I see him staring at me with something funny in his expression. He seems doubtful, skeptical even. Like he doesn't believe me.

"I truly do," I add, practically gushing and, without thinking, I senselessly reach over to touch his knee with my hand, squeezing down into his warm jean-covered kneecap with my fingertips. "I really have grown to like Frank Sinatra's music and, as a person, I find him interesting to hear about too."

I move my hand away as soon as I do it, feeling idiotic and embarrassed. Why can't I keep my hands to myself? Why must I embarrass myself all the time in front of him?

"What are you two muttering about over there?" Kate's voice suddenly says, and I almost jump on the cushion. Horrible of me to admit, I had almost begun to forget she was there, sitting beside me. Then she must see the CD's he gave me, because she groans. "Oh, gross, Dad. Really? You're trying to push that atrocious music onto Ana now?"

"Hey," I speak up, glancing her way, coming to his defense. "I actually like his music."

"Seriously?" She eyes me like I'm a new person she's just met and is disgusted by. "How can you like that old person's music? It's for old people!"

"It isn't for old people," I mutter back, half-serious. "He's actually got such a soulful voice!"

"He's boring." I can't win with her obviously, so I give up on trying to convince her on how nice Frank Sinatra's music actually is. Obviously her father has tried to convince her as well throughout the years and it has been a losing battle. "Dad, please don't you dare start playing his music right now!"

I turn to see Mr Grey putting both hands up in the air, pleading innocence. "Relax," he says, his voice shaky with laughter. "I'm not going to play any of his music. You're safe."

"Thank God then. I still remember all those horrible times you forced me to listen to his CD's in the car while teaching me how to drive. It was a nightmare!"

I watch as Mr Grey stands, squeezing past me to get to Kate. Kate's shrill, boisterous laughter fills the air as he manages to ruffle her hair with his hand before she can stop him. Knowing how pedantic Kate often is with her hair, her reaction does not surprise me. I join in with their laughter when Kate wiggles around on the couch, trying to escape him, her legs flailing in the air. Then she lashes out with her left leg, kicking Christian in the stomach, her giggles turning into victorious squeals.

It's weird how adorable I find it. Not my best friend so much, but her father. How playful they are together, how boyish and younger he looks when he actually smiles, an open-mouthed, genuine smile that shows all of his teeth. He doesn't seem to smile all that much, but when he does, it's a sight.

It's palpable, the fondness he has for her. For some reason I find myself wishing he'd be that way with me; Smiling, playful, fond. It's ridiculous but I do.

* * *

"Who do you thinks cuter? Jose Rodriguez or Paul Clayton?" Kate asks later that night as we lay side-by-side on the top of the sheets on her bed. It's 10.30 and we should really be trying to sleep, but instead, we feel wide awake, with just wanting to talk about random things.

Kate's dressed head-to-toe in her flannel pajamas, while I'm in my tank top and flannel pajama trousers.

"Hmm, hard question," I murmur thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. Jose Rodriguez and Paul Clayton are guys that go to our school. "Why? Who do you think is cuter?"

"Paul," she admits without hesitance. "Definitely Paul. I'm pretty sure I caught him checking me out in physical education class too." The light from the screen comes on from her phone, blinding me. I turn to see her logging into Facebook. "Oh, my mom posted a new picture."

I freeze and basically stop breathing at the mention of Kate's mom. "A new picture of her with her boyfriend?"

"Yep. See." I shift over onto my shoulder to see better. Her Mom and Kate look somewhat the same, I think. The same blonde hair, though her Mom's hair is obviously fake peroxide blonde, because you can see regrowth. She seems older than Christian for some reason, unless she just hasn't aged all that well. The guy next to her is pressing his cheek against hers to get into the shot, and he's wearing a baseball cap. He's got a goatee and a graying beard. He definitely isn't as good-looking as Christian is. "That's him, the guy she left dad for."

I try to refrain from commenting. I don't think Kate would be too happy if I called her Mom nuts for leaving a man so amazing as Christian.

"They went to New Zealand last month. And to the Grand Canyon too. Mom and him have been posting all these travel pictures. At least she looks happy though. Right?"

I wish her father was happy. I wish he smiled more. I wish he found someone who made him happy.

"Does your dad know she has a Facebook page?" I can't help asking curiously.

"Hell no!" I think I feel Kate shudder. "If he did, he would be so messed up! I don't even want to imagine him looking at pictures of them holidaying! He'd be so upset!"

She shows me another picture of her Mom and the guy kissing. It's a really mushy, PDA pic. It makes me feel ill, and like looking at it is a betrayal of Christian, her father. I know that's extreme to think like that, but it does. I really cannot see the appeal of this guy compared to Mr Grey at all. Then Kate shows me another picture, even worse than the kissing one, of her Mom in a too-small bikini, dipping in a spa bath while her partner is beside her, half-naked except for shorts. Her Mom's breasts are practically popping out of the bikini top.

"She isn't exactly shy, is she?" I can't help commenting.

"Yeah, I guess not. But life's too short to care how you look in a bikini, right? Who cares?"

"I guess so." Kate logs out, shutting off her phone, blinding me in sudden pitch-black darkness. Her Mom remains in my mind, even after what seems 20 minutes later. I can't get the image of her, blonde-haired, breasts swelling out of her bikini top, from my mind. It just seems so unbelievably crass and disrespectful. I don't know why I care so much, I probably shouldn't, but it does.

* * *

I sigh loudly in frustration, still on top of the covers, listening to Kate's even, deep breathing. She's obviously fallen asleep, while I can't. I turn, looking at the time on her lit-up alarm clock. It says it's 11.30 at night. Why can't I just sleep? Her room is dark enough.

Giving up a few minutes later, I decide to sneak downstairs to get a glass of water. I throw my legs off her bed, getting to my feet slowly. I pad my way towards her bedroom door, then sneak out, being as quiet as possible.

Locating the stairs, I start climbing down it carefully while hanging tightly onto the railing with my hands. It can be so hard to navigate my way around her house when it's dark. Finally reaching the last step, that's when I hear a sound. I pause the instance my heels touch the first floor carpet, listening carefully. There's a strange muffled sound, a bit like someone's crying. But who? And where?

Following the sound while tracing a hand against the plaster wall to help lead me towards the kitchen, I see a faint shining light from in the area of it. Someone's in the kitchen, crying I think. The closer I sneak barefooted, the clearer my vision gets. Someone sits on the stool near the counter in the kitchen, their form just a shadowy silhouette. The small light above the stove is on, providing a tiny bit of light.

Not wanting to scare the person, I whisper gently, "Hello?" while blindly feeling my way to the end of the wall. The noise happens once more, a deep harsh sniffing noise, and then it stops.

"Anastasia?" The shadowed form breathes with a tone of alarm and embarrassment, and just as suddenly, I realize it's Mr Grey. Mr Grey, Christian, is sitting on the stool in the kitchen, alone, maybe crying. My heart seizes and aches. "What... what are you doing up at this hour?"

Finally reaching behind him, I can just barely make out him turning around on the stool to look at me. He wipes his eyes hurriedly with his hands, a shaky exhalation escaping him.

"I... I'm sorry, I just couldn't sleep. I wanted to get a glass of water?"

Sliding off the stool onto his feet, he moves around the counter, grabbing a tall glass out of the cupboard. The tap runs as he pours me a glass of water, and as he moves closer to hand it to me, the light from the stove shines on his face enough that I can notice how bleak he looks, how shiny his eyes are. He's been crying. What for? I wish I knew what pains him so much so that I could try to help ease it and take it away.

"Um, are you okay?" I ask tentatively.

He inhales deeply, his breath loud and uneven. "Of course I am," he mutters quietly, but it doesn't sound that way. It sounds as though he's trying to sound purposefully happier and brighter. "You just caught me at a bad moment. I apologize if I woke you?"

"No, you didn't at all. As I said, I... I just wanted a drink, that's all."

He rubs his eyes and face and then rakes both hands through his hair. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell my daughter about seeing me like this."

"Of course not," I murmur. "I wouldn't ever-"

"-She can't know." There's fearfulness, an anxious edge there.

"I know. I wouldn't tell her," I promise. If I wasn't holding the glass of water, I would be reaching out, touching him. Maybe even hugging him. I want to hug him, to feel my arms around him so bad that it hurts. I want him to know I care. "You know, Christian, if, um... if you ever want someone to talk to, I could always listen?" I offer uncertainly. I know I wouldn't be much help probably, but I want him to know that he has someone there at least, someone who is willing to just listen and not judge. The knowledge that he was crying then, that he's now pretending not to all because I walked in on him, it's heartbreaking. I would do anything to make him feel better. He's the very last person that I believe should feel this way, the last person that deserves to hurt like this. "Even if it's just someone you talk to to help get things off your chest, I'd be more than happy to?"

"Anastasia, I don't-" His voice is harsh, angry somehow. But then he stops himself and takes a breath, wiping his eyes with his fingertips again. "Thank you for the offer, but it... it isn't necessary. I don't believe that would be appropriate."

"If it's just 2 people opening up to each other, why wouldn't-" I begin then fall silent in confusion. Why wouldn't it be appropriate?

"You shouldn't have even caught me like this. You're young." He sounds so drained, so exhausted and vulnerable. It's sad. I think I know somewhat why he's upset like this, and I think I'm right in my suspicion that it's due to his ex. I hate that she hurt him in such a way, that she's made him feel such pain. "You don't need to deal with all of my emotional shit, trust me."

"I know I'm just your daughters friend and I really don't have much experience with certain things that you're going through, but..."

"- Once you're done, go back to sleep please," he admonishes me, cutting me off. "You shouldn't even be up this late. It's almost midnight." Before another word can even be said, he brushes past me, striding briskly out of the kitchen, leaving me in the near-dark, illuminated by just the light above the stove.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS, GLAD TO READ IT ISN'T TOO SLOW FOR SOME OF YOU. I AM TRYING TO MAKE AS REALISTIC AS SOMEWHAT POSSIBLE, AND WANT THERE TO BE A SOLID CONNECTION BETWEEN THEM BEFORE ANYTHING HAPPENS. HOPE IT IS OK I AM WRITING A DIFFERENT CHRISTIAN THAT IS VERY VULNERABLE AND GRIEVING HIS DIVORCE. LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, IT'S PROBABLY REALLY BADLY WRITTEN! I GET SO ANXIOUS WRITING!


	6. Chapter 6

THANK YOU SO MUCH, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE. POOR CHRISTIAN IS STARTING TO FEEL SO CONFLICTED BY ANA ;)

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have checked in the first place and now, I was paying the price and suffering for it.

After finishing dinner and knowing that both the girls were safe in bed and that it was safe to, I'd tried out Facebook, the website that my daughter seems to be all obsessed about these days. It had gone straight into my daughter's account. Kate uses my phone from time to time because, as she says, I have more internet data to use than she does, which has always been fine for me. She must have forgotten to log out.

The photo comes up the instance I find myself scrolling down her news feed. I wasn't expecting to see her, not so suddenly like that. It almost feels like a cruel joke, a shock to the system.

Kate's bitch of her mother, the new asshole partner with her. 'Profile picture updated 45 minutes ago', it says, whatever that means. I had no idea her mother even knew how to operate Facebook; I certainly don't, with social media websites not being my strongest point.

I should have shut off my phone the instance I saw it. Yet, stupidly, I sat there for what seemed hours, in the dark kitchen with just the light above the stove on, staring at her, evaluating everything about my ex wife, about her new partner.

The asshole seems familiar to me for some reason, yet I can't quite place where it feels like I've seen him from. Maybe she was fucking him even before we officially ended our marriage? Maybe they crossed paths while we were still married, and the bitch was fucking him behind my back?

The way she looks now, it certainly wouldn't surprise me.

What does he have that I don't? I wonder, leaning an elbow against the counter. I run my fingers through my hair with a sigh, staring hard at the picture of them both.

She looks different than I remembered. She's wearing a bikini, the top hardly fitting her right. It brings back certain memories of arguments we'd had through the years, where I'd get pissed off because she tended to wear things that showed off her body. She liked parading around for other men, which I didn't, I got touchy about it. I guess I'm what you'd call your usual possessive man. I don't like other men looking at my things, particularly not my wife's tits and ass. To me, looking at another man's wife; it's the epitome of disrespect.

I shouldn't even be doing it, but I click the photo. A new one comes up, of her and the new asshole posing in front of a glorious mountain. Looks like New Zealand or some shit like that.

Clearly they're both enjoying themselves, having the times of their lives. Scrounging off the half of the money I gave her during the settlement of our divorce proceedings.

'Good for them', I try to think. Yet all there is, is deep-seated bitterness still. 3 years has gone past, and still, that bitterness and resentment is still there. I don't know how to get rid of it, I wish I could. Still, I can't deny I wouldn't hesitate beating the shit out of this asshole.

I remember one of the last fights we had. How she'd accused me of being a workaholic, how she said I am never there for her. I hope she's happy now, the bitch. I hope he's making her happy while spending my hard-earned money.

Jesus, why do I do this to myself? Why am I torturing myself?

Something drops off my face onto my arm, something wet. Fuck, bleeding nose? I reach up with my hand, wiping my nose and around my face, then I try to see whether it's blood in the darkness or not. Only it isn't blood.

I realize what the hell it is a second later when my eyes start blurring. I grit my teeth, grinding my jaw, trying to stop it, yet it won't. I'm fucking crying. I haven't cried in such a long time, ever since a couple of times while I was by myself when Kate was in her room and I knew it was safe to do so.

Shutting the page off with the picture of my ex and her new asshole, I sniff loudly, holding my hands over my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? 3 years and here I am, still crying like a fucking baby?

I hear a noise from behind me, but it's too late. And then her voice, quiet and nervous.

"Hello?"

Anastasia. Shit.

"Anastasia?" This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to see me doing this. Quickly, I try to wipe everything away, trying to seem stoic and normal, the embarrassment making me feel red in the face. "What... what are you doing up at this hour?"

She comes closer, and I turn to look at her while wiping my face again. Now what must she think of me? If she tells Kate about this, how she caught me in such a state, then what would my daughter think of me?

I'm supposed to be a grown-ass man. Men aren't supposed to cry. Or so I've learned in all my years of growing up in adolescence, particularly when it came to my family and my brother Elliot.

"I... I'm sorry, I just couldn't sleep. I wanted to get a glass of water?"

Taking initiative and using it to my advantage to hide my face from her, I slide off the stool, disregarding my phone. I find the cabinet where the glasses are in the dark, and pour her a glass of water at the sink. There, I can be functional. I can do my fatherly duties for my daughter's best friend. Just because she caught me in a fucked-up, emotional state, it does not mean I am utterly pathetic.

As I hand it to her, I hate how unsteady my hand is. I notice her staring up at me, but I pray the room is too dark for her to properly see me. I loathe the thought that she knows there is something wrong with me.

"Um, are you okay?"

I inhale in deeply at her words that confirm that she knows something is clearly up. Goddamn it. Why did she have to see me like this? "Of course I am," I lie, succeeding in sounding convincing. "You just caught me at a bad moment. I apologize if I woke you?"

The short little breathless laugh she makes at my comment, it makes me feel... good inside. Something I haven't felt in months now. I have no idea why. But it's like with her texts as well; She made me feel strangely content while texting each other as well. It was just the entire absurdity of her wanting to text an old fogey like me, someone older than her, someone boring. There's just an innocence about her, and I notice, every time she's around me and my daughter, she never ceases to smile. I think we could use some of that around here, definitely. Some of her smiles.

"No, you didn't at all. As I said, I... I just wanted a drink, that's all."

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell my daughter about seeing me like this."

"Of course not," she murmurs and I can tell I've caught her off balance. "I wouldn't ever-"

"-She can't know." Under no uncertain terms, can Katherine know about this. I don't want her to know how weak I am, that I still cry from time to time due to the loss of her mother. That sometimes, when the bitterness isn't there, I still reflect on our marriage, on certain important parts of it. Our wedding, how amazing the day was when Kate arrived, how I first held her, tiny and hairless, in my arms as a baby.

"I know. I wouldn't tell her." While I don't know much about this girl, for some reason I feel I can believe her. She's been friends with my daughter for a very long time, even before Kate's mother and I began having our marriage issues. Then what she says next, it surprises me, "You know, Christian, if, um... if you ever want someone to talk to, I could always listen?"

She's inviting me to talk to her? My daughter's friend, Anastasia, is asking me to talk to her? I see my therapist, Flynn, every second Wednesday. Admittedly, there are times where I don't tell him everything that goes through my mind. There are admittedly times where I purposefully neglect to tell him things. I find Flynn helps to a point, but even he can't magically erase all the hurt and anger I feel inside.

"Even if it's just someone you talk to to help get things off your chest, I'd be more than happy to?"

There's a moment of silence that passes between us where, dare I even say it, I actually consider talking to her. It would certainly help to have someone else to speak to, on those days where I feel I can't open up to Flynn quite as well as I'd hoped to. And, Anastasia, sleeping over basically every weekend, she'd always be there.

But no, I shouldn't even consider taking up her offer. She's 17, and close to my daughter. It would inappropriate. Plus, I am fairly certain she wouldn't be able to handle all the emotional baggage and shit I go through on a daily basis. It wouldn't be fair.

"Anastasia, I don't-" The words come out too harsh. Irate, even. I take a deep breath to calm down, to speak in a more gentler voice to her. "Thank you for the offer, but it... it isn't necessary. I don't believe that would be appropriate."

"If it's just 2 people opening up to each other, why wouldn't-" Damn this girl. She's putting up an extremely convincing fight. But I know it wouldn't be right.

"You shouldn't have even caught me like this. You're young," I try to sway her. "You don't need to deal with all of my emotional shit, trust me."

"I know I'm just your daughters friend and I really don't have much experience with certain things that you're going through, but..."

I've been by myself for far too long. But I can't accept this, no matter how tempted I am. I shouldn't, despite how, especially with the texts we'd sent each other, how bright she'd seemed, how intuitive. There is undoubtedly something about her that makes her seem almost older than how old she truly is; a way about her that seems willing to want to reach out to people with genuine compassion. She truly is so different from my daughter; My daughter who, if she saw a homeless man sitting out near a cardboard box outside the car window, she'd turn her nose and comment on how ratty his clothes were rather instead of looking at him with compassion. Exactly like her mother would...

"- Once you're done, go back to sleep please," I say, trying to end the conversation right then and there. I try to sound stern, using the voice I use on Kate on occasion when she won't listen to me, "You shouldn't even be up this late. It's almost midnight."

Snatching my phone up off the counter in my hand before I can forget it, I squeeze past where she stands, still holding the glass of water I poured from her in her hand.

I lift up my arm, using my sleeve to wipe the moisture off from my eyes and cheek with it. As I reach the stairs, I pause, listening to Anastasia in the kitchen. She must pour out the rest of the water, because I hear it trickle down the sink, straight down the drain. Then it occurs to me how rude I'm being. I don't mean to be, really. But I would prefer to escape and hide away in my bedroom than have to admit why I was being emotional to someone, especially my daughter's friend, of all people.

It's an incredibly complex situation.

I turn around to look at her behind my shoulder while gripping onto the staircase railing with my hand. We have to be quiet about this. If Kate woke up and heard us...

"I'm sorry for seeming rude or abrupt with you seconds ago," I mutter guiltily when she stops on the opposite side of the railing, leaning against it with her hip. "I suppose I'm just having one of those nights."

"I understand, Christian. Really."

Can she? I have to wonder doubtfully, squinting at her eyes that gleam back at me in the dark. Can she really possibly understand?

"And you don't need to apologize," she adds, her voice soft, warm. "I overstepped a line. _Of course_ you wouldn't want to talk to me."

"It isn't that I wouldn't want to, Anastasia," I point out before I can stop myself. "I truly do appreciate you offering, and I'm flattered that you're offering, but..." I stumble over my words. I have never been particularly great with heart to hearts. I breathe in sharply through my nose, irritated at myself and my behavior. I can speak to my daughter fine, so why is it now that I find myself struggling to maintain an intelligent conversation with Kate's friend? "Like I said, you really wouldn't want to hear me talk in-depth about all the emotional shit I'm going through. It would take all night."

I try to make a little bit of a joke out of it, and to my relief, it actually seems to work. That warming laughter escapes her, and she's truly like a breath of fresh air, a burst of sunshine.

"I just don't like seeing anyone upset," she mutters, her voice going lower, huskier. "Even _you_."

Thank God it's dark. I can't see her face, but I can see the shadowed outline of her body as she stands across from me at the staircase, the shape of her long dark hair, the curve of her shoulder blades, her hips and legs. I'm taller than her; The top of her head only just reaches my shoulders. Why I notice that, I have no idea.

"It's just... after my father died, I've had this weird thing where, whenever I see someone upset, it gives me this compulsion or urge or something to try help them," she continues, sort of rambling, her voice light, breathless. "I saw my mom crying when I was 5 because of it, and although I didn't understand much at the time, it just... broke my heart."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Your father died?" I never knew. Well, of course I never knew. But frankly, I did wonder why there was no mention of her father from my daughter whenever she told me she had permission to stay over. I just assumed he was an absent player in her life.

"Yeah, he did, when I was 4." I see her silhouette move as she sinks easily down to the lowest step on the stairs, sitting. "He worked for the marines. He died of an accident over there. My mother never told me much about it, but I remember at the funeral, how she cried..." Anastasia herself doesn't sound too upset over it. Perhaps it's been that long that she's moved past the pain of her father's absence in her life? "You want to sit?" she asks quietly, and she taps the palm of her hand gently on the space of the step beside her.

I know I shouldn't but for some reason, my knees instinctively buckle. I sit beside her, my knee and arm brushing against hers. It's rather narrow and squashy, but we manage. I just know it's going to be hell when I try stand up again; Although I'm not that old, my joints play up sometimes lately. Especially my knees. It's a pain in the ass.

"I'm going to dread standing up now," I mutter wryly before I can stop myself.

She laughs softly, then asks with confusion, "Why would you?"

"Because I'm an old codger," I admit to her, though I try to lay on the charm, making it seem like a joke. "My knees and joints aren't as good as they once were."

"You, an old codger?" I can't help smiling slightly at how amused she sounds. Why I feel so pleased every time I succeed in making this girl laugh, I'm not sure. But it always feels like some strange sort of compliment. "I wouldn't consider you an old codger, at 38. Far from it. A man in their 80's, maybe, but not... someone at your age."

"Your kind," I say in my most exhausted, weary voice, and she laughs again. Realizing I've unintentionally dismissed what she was telling me, what she was revealing about her father, I steer the conversation back onto it. "I'm sorry. You were telling me about your father?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, there's nothing else much to say. I don't remember him much."

"And what about any brothers or sisters?" I ask curiously. I don't recall Kate ever mentioning her having any, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to ask.

"None. I'm an only child, like Kate is."

We fall into an awkward silence, where I guess neither of us know what to say next. I check the time on my phone, the screen illuminating her face from beside me. The time on the screen says it's just after 12.00. Midnight. She's playing with a strand of dark hair at her shoulder with her fingers as she stares down at the ground, a sort of shy smile permanently on her lips. I realize she's wearing purple flannel pajama trousers with cats on them and a plain tank top. I can't tell if she's wearing a bra or not because-

Deliberately, I avert my eyes, giving my head a reprimanding shake. Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I doing? I'm acting no better than a fucking sick old pervert. She's old enough to be my second daughter, considering that she is exactly Katherine's age. Talk about inappropriate.

"I'm, um, really sorry again if I offended you," she says, speaking about something I'm not even sure I know what. I'm utterly lost. "I'm sorry if it was totally weird of me, too, texting you like that." Oh, she's referring to our texting incident a couple of evenings ago. Of course. "I guess I find it difficult finding people my age that I'm really interested in talking to."

"Like I said, Anastasia, you really didn't offend me. And honestly, I didn't mind you texting me. I just didn't understand why."

I catch her head move in my direction. "Why what?"

I hesitate, before answering, using the tips of my fingers to massage around my forehead while still keeping my head down low out of fear I start thinking irrationally again, "Well, why you would even be interested in texting someone like me rather than someone your own age?"

"I believe I've already answered that enough." Her shoulder brushes against mine as I feel her shrug my question off. It's lucky the shirt I'm wearing is long sleeved, otherwise I'd feel her skin against me; Skin, that I am assuming is warm, soft, wrinkle-free.

She finds me interesting, apparently. I struggle to even accept that, frankly. What could someone like her possibly find all that interesting in me? I'm old, I have no special talents. I'm a good dancer, a good golf player. I'm excellent at playing piano, but my tastes in music, in film... I think Katherine has made her point enough on just how lousy she finds my taste in those particular areas.

I thought I was a good lover, and a good husband, but apparently I wasn't. No, I was a workaholic, I was too preoccupied with my own daughter succeeding- getting her drivers license, good grades at school, all that- that I supposedly forgot about the wishes and desires of my wife.

It just doesn't make sense to me, no matter how she explains it. This girl is young, and she has her entire world and limited opportunities spread out before her, just like my daughter has.

And yet, despite that, she decides to text me, of all people?

What is she even doing, sitting here right now, at midnight, choosing to speak to me?

What can I even begin to offer her by speaking to her right now?

She actually shows interest in the music I like, and she claims to like Frank Sinatra as much as I do. Perhaps she truly does just feel sorry for me? And no doubt, how she caught me crying tonight, it would make her feel even more so sorry for me. I probably inspire so much pity, I'm someone she's speaking to kindly out of commiseration.

"So you enjoy working?" Anastasia asks, tearing me out of my own pity-party.

It takes me a second to focus, to get my brain right. "I do." I cannot even begin to understand why she cares to know about my job, of all things. Katherine certainly doesn't. "I enjoy it very much. I like the distraction and challenge it presents me."

"And you deal mainly with telecommunications?" she asks. To my astonishment, she sounds truly invested in learning about it. What a shocker. "Of course, I don't know much about anything like that, but... Kate told me a few things about it and it seems very interesting, your job?"

"Kate told you about my job? Surely not?" I am surprised.

"She did, actually. You sound surprised?"

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Kate here?" I ask her, rewarded by that laughter of hers again. "No, in all seriousness, Kate seems to loathe me speaking about anything remotely job-related. Usually I tend to steer clear of it with her."

"Well, she said that your very successful? That you run your own company and that even China is interested or something?"

"That's correct, yes. China is interested in investing in the company, in becoming a shareholder." I try to explain it in as basic terms as humanly possible so I don't bore her. "Surprisingly, throughout the years, business has been great. The company is going really really well."

"Then that's really great to hear. You must be so proud of yourself and how well you're accomplishing your dreams?"

Her comment takes me back a bit. I must be really proud of myself? Rarely. Rarely do I ever praise myself.

"So what about you?" I demand, trying to change the subject. Talking about someone else is always easier, I find. Distracting them, pushing the focus onto them. People always love talking about themselves. "What's the plan after you graduate?"

"I hate people asking me that, honestly. What are your plans? What are you going to do?"Her voice goes low with frustration, but she laughs again. "I don't know, really. I guess... as you know, I love literature. But what can I do? Be a librarian or something? I don't know. People always expect you, at my age, to have some sort of idea into what you want to do, yet I don't?"

"When I was your age, I was like that myself. I had no definitive goal or... passion." I decide to put my 2 cents in, my old man wisdom. "When Kate's mother was pregnant, I was just about to graduate. It completely threw me off the path. I always assumed I'd quit school early and not further my education. I'd just be a laborer or a plumber or something. But it was Kate's mother who really..." I have to stop for a second, my throat growing tight. Jesus, not again. I cover my hand over my eyes, waiting a second for the emotion to clear. Fortunately, Anastasia doesn't notice. Or if she does, she doesn't mention anything about it. "If it wasn't for Kate's mother pushing me and guiding me along into making something of myself, I don't really know where I would have ended up."

I haven't spoken about this to anyone. Why I'm telling her now, I have no idea.

"Yeah, she may have helped you by guiding you along or supporting you to reach your goals, but..." Anastasia's voice is soft, thoughtful, "She wasn't the one who put in all the hard work, was she? Ultimately, it was you who did that. You were the one who fought hard to get where you are, and you put down the grueling hours and the hard work. She can't take all the credit, can she?"

I open my mouth to reply, yet I realize I'm speechless. She has effectively made me speechless, something that rarely happens for me. I have no idea what to say; She has certainly opened up my eyes. I have never thought of it in that light before.

"I can't say I have ever considered it that way before."

"I'm definitely learning a lot about you," she mutters, somewhat shyly with another one of her short laughs. Her laughter, I find, is so refreshing. So oddly infectious.

"You are?" I murmur back, nervous at the idea.

"Yeah. You... don't seem to acknowledge just how much it's all been you. It's hard to explain but..." She hesitates, as if she's now lost for words and speechless. "You're always seeming to ignore how much your successes is mainly due to you, how it's all your hard work, your dedication. You praise Kate's mom for being the one that helped support you along when, really, it was all you." She says it in the similar tone she had when she spoke about Frank Sinatra and how much she did, in fact, enjoy his music; Passionately, like it's something she truly believes in, her voice unsteady and wavering. "It's something I've noticed, even with our texting."

I'm not so sure I want to hear it, but I listen anyway.

"Your dismissive of compliments and praises towards you, and you put yourself down. Like how you say you don't understand why I wanted to text you in the first place, that you're old or boring when... you're anything but."

It surprises me, yet again, how much I enjoy speaking with her, just as I did with texting her about the books and the music. I've never felt this way while associating with a younger person before. While I love my daughter to death, of course, it's... refreshing, talking to someone who truly seems interested in what I have to say, someone who again values my opinions. I felt it while we texted each other. And the esteem Anastasia seems to hold me with, how high she regards me, how respectful she is of me, a 38 year old fogey, it's flattering. Breathtaking, even. Something I truly have never experienced before, something that has been absent for an extremely long time now.

"Thank you," I whisper, touched. I feel my cheeks throb with heat. "And you certainly are intuitive, like I pointed out earlier tonight."

"So you're saying I'm right on my assessment?"

"I guess so," I admit unwillingly with a sigh. "Yes, you are. It's funny how it's easier to compliment other people and to truly mean them, but... when it comes to accepting compliments about ourselves, it's incredibly... hard."

"You know, I, um..." She falls silent, seeming nervous. When I look in her direction, I notice her body move, how she straightens up on the step. "Kate showed me her Facebook tonight."

Oh, no. I think I can predict where this is heading. "She did?"

"Her Mom put up a new photo?" It comes out in a quiet breath, like she's afraid of upsetting me.

"I know," I admit, deciding to be honest. I see her body relax, her shoulders, like she's relieved I'm taking it okay. "Would I be a terrible father if I admitted I might have peeked on my daughter's Facebook page tonight? That I couldn't help noticing the picture myself?"

"Oh." Even in the dark, I can tell she's wincing.

"I saw the exact photo that you're hinting to, Anastasia." I try to sound anything but affected; I manage to sound utterly neutral and void of any emotion whatsoever. "The one of her with the new boyfriend where they're posing."

"She's... pretty?" Even as the word comes out of her mouth 'pretty', I can tell she doesn't truly mean it. I try not to laugh at how insincere she says it, but fail. A short chuckle escapes me. "What?" she asks nervously.

"You sounded very convincing just then?"

"Oh, god," she mutters, sounding embarrassed. I can just see her hands flying up to her face as she covers her forehead. "I really don't mean to-"

"Anastasia, it's fine," I assure her seriously. "Admittedly, I don't think too well of her. I mean, when I saw the photograph, 'pretty' was not what ran through my mind."

I realize the error of my ways the instance I say it. How can I be so careless, speaking to my daughter's best friend so negatively about the bitch ex? What if Anastasia tells her about this and it upsets Kate?

"Please," I begin, and senselessly, I find one of her hands in the dark, squeezing it. Her hand is so much smaller than mine, so much softer. "Please, whatever you do, do not repeat that to my daughter. I apologize for saying that out loud. I shouldn't even be saying such a thing about her mother!"

"Your secrets safe with me, don't worry." Again, I find it impossible to distrust her. She has a way about her that makes you trust her implicitly. "Honestly, judging by the picture, I can't say I thought well of her myself."

I blink at her through the dark in confusion. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because she hurt you, Christian! I'm sorry because she's my best friend's mom and it's bad of me but... anyone who hurts another person or causes them such pain, I can't help but not like them!" Intuitive. Definitely intuitive.

I've been so invested in hearing her explanation that I realize I'm still holding her hand, squeezing it in mine. But frankly, she hasn't exactly squirmed out of my embrace with hers either. It occurs to me, overdue, that her thumb is stroking the back of my finger. What the fuck am I doing?

Clenching my eyes shut, I feel my cheeks throb with warmth again as I deliberately wrench my hand free from hers. What are we even doing here? It's past midnight and here we sit, just talking, agreeing and expressing our hatred over my ex wife. How is this appropriate to my daughter who is upstairs, in bed, innocently sleeping?

Reopening my eyes, I feign a loud yawn while slapping my hand over my mouth. "We better call it a night," I suggest. "It's getting late."

"Um, okay." Though she sounds strangely disappointed, Anastasia stands like only a lithe, energetic young girl can. She turns to look at me from where I am, still sitting on the step, warming myself up into moving. "You want my help?" she asks with another laugh.

"Please," I surrender, begging. That laughter fills my ears again as she holds out her hand down towards me.

Maybe playing it up a bit more than what's true, I make a few groaning noises as I let her help me up, the joints in my knees not hurting like I anticipated.

"This is what happens when you spend time with an old man, Anastasia," I murmur playfully once I stand to my full height. "Better to stick in the company of boys your age instead."

She laughs again, like she assumes I'm joking. Honestly, after prolonging holding onto her hand the way we did, the way her finger stroked the back of mine, I am not so sure that I am.

"Good talk," I say as we both tread the stairs.

Once we reach the last step, we turn to go our separate ways; Her towards my daughter's bedroom, me to the next staircase to climb up to mine. I stop with my foot on the first step, turning back to look at her, finding her watching me, her chin upraised higher. Lifting a hand, she pushes her long brown hair back behind her shoulders.

There's something there shining in her blue eyes that I haven't seen before; A strange sort of warmth, a bit of... excitement maybe or happiness. I'm not sure what.

"Good night, Mr Grey," she murmurs, and I can't help noticing her voice has changed also. It seems breathless, sweeter, yet stronger. More assertive somehow.

Smiling, she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, then bites down on it with her teeth.

"Yes, good night, Anastasia. Sleep well."

Turning away from her, I start climbing up the stairs while shaking my head, perplexed over her change in attitude. I cannot make out her expression or the look in her eyes at all. What was that all about?

HOPE THIS WAS OKAY, I GET SO NERVOUS ESPECIALLY TRYING TO WRITE CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW. POOR GUY IS REALLY STRUGGLING TO UNDERSTAND ANA. HE'S SO DOWN ON HIMSELF THAT HE CAN'T SEE SHE'S ADMIRING HIM AT ALL. PLEASE BE KIND, I GET SCARED POSTING CHAPS! ALSO HOPE IT ISN'T TOO SLOW MOVING, IF SO, LET ME KNOW.


	7. Chapter 7

THANK YOU! HOPE YOU ENJOY AND HOPING THE PACE IS GETTING A BIT BETTER! :)

IN TOO DEEP

Chapter 7

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"20 dollars, sir," Taylor wagers convincingly as we start wandering through the backyard together, carrying our plastic water bottles and our golf clubs.

I laugh as I unscrew the lid on my bottle, taking a sip. "20 dollars, Taylor? How about we raise that to 50?"

Dull as it probably is to admit to, I live for these moments of waking up early on Saturday mornings to play a round of golf with Taylor, my head of security and one of my closest and longest friends. We've been doing this non-stop for 7 years since Taylor first admitted to me that he's fond of a good challenging game of golf, and we haven't looked back ever since.

I find it relaxing, the distraction golf with Taylor provides. Rarely do I feel I am able to let loose and relax as much as I am when I'm with Taylor, playing a boisterous round of golf in the backyard.

Taylor hesitates, clenching his jaw in thought. Then, just like I knew he would, the offer proves too tempting. "Fine, you're on," he agrees, wincing when we shake on it, legitimizing our bet. "Gail's not gonna be happy I'm gambling with my money again though."

"Live a little," I say, inhaling in a lungful of the frosty morning air.

"Easy for you to say when you have no misses to answer to anymore. I'm still left in the doghouse after losing that 100 last week." Gail is Taylor's wife. They've been married for over 23 years and have a beautiful 15 year old daughter. Although Taylor isn't officially on duty on weekends, we both like our competitive morning games of golf. He's really the only person I'd consider to be a friend.

We wedge a tee into the ground and I grab the balls out of my jacket pocket. A few years back, I specifically had someone over to make my backyard into a makeshift golf track. It isn't as big as the usual golfing field is, of course, but it does well for us.

"So," Taylor grunts meaningfully as I take the first go.

I line up sideways after putting my ball on top of the tee, getting into position with my club. "So what, Taylor?"

"So, have you given anymore thought into what I mentioned last week?"

He throws me off, disrupting any small bit of concentration I had. I turn back to look at him while running my gloved fingers through my hair. Last week, Taylor mentioned, on behalf of his wife, a woman my age that his wife is close friends with. Apparently Gail is under the opinion that it might do me some good to 'get back into the game', as Taylor puts in. In other words, start dating again.

I'd given it a brief bit of thought, but decided against it ultimately. I'm too busy.

"My schedules too tight, Taylor," I tell him. "I work 9 to 6. Added with the fact that I have a 17 year old daughter that is extremely demanding, I don't much have the time for it." It's a lie, of course. I'm not really all that busy. I do get free time to myself, especially on weekends. I'm just not ready yet. 3 years and still, I don't feel ready.

"Your schedules too tight?" Taylor repeats, and I know he's seen straight through me. He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "Man, it'll take you less than 2 hours to go on a date with this woman. Dinner, dessert. That's it. Gail thinks it will do you some good."

"Really, I appreciate the suggestion but I'm fine, Taylor," I say tightly.

"She's not coming back, if that's what you're hoping?"

I have to turn away from him, hiding my face. Instead, I line up again, gripping the club tight between my gloved fingers. "I know that, Taylor. And I'm not expecting her to."

"She's already moved on, sir. It took her- what? 5 minutes after the divorce was probably settled before she was jumping into that guy's arms." He's telling me shit I already know, interfering with my concentration. "You need to get back out there. Even if you aren't waiting around for her, like you say... it's the healthiest thing to do."

He's right, and I know that. I'm not waiting around for her, but... there's always a small glimmer of hope inside me that she'll get tired of the new asshole, that she'll run back to me, to Kate, and we'll be one big happy fucking family again. My feelings for my ex are more... complicated than I can describe.

On one hand, I hate her with all I'm worth. I resent her, I loathe her. Yet... there's a part of me that isn't quite ready to give her up completely yet. It's pathetic; 3 years and she doesn't give a shit about me. Her actions and how happy she is with this new asshole show otherwise; That picture I saw on my daughters Facebook page, all of that.

I know, even if she did decide to come back out of the blue, I probably wouldn't take her back. Too much shit has happened, too much trust has been broken. I think it's the whole fear of the unknown that scares the living shit out of me. If I start dating again, it's a completely different scene than what it was, say, 17 years ago where there wasn't as much advanced technology or so called rules.

I'd married Kate's mother the instance we were out of high school and of age, mainly because it was right and expected. I'd gotten her pregnant with Kate, and that was the way it was supposed to go. But dating now, in this day and age?

The thought is absolutely daunting...

"I got married straight after I turned 18, Taylor," I point out to him in frustration. "She was my 1st girlfriend, I got her pregnant with Kate, and we got married as soon as we could. What the hell do I know about the whole dating scene?"

" _She_ managed it fine with that new fucker, didn't she?" One of the reasons I like and trust Taylor so much, is that when it happened, when she decided to leave me, he was on my side, he had my back. He feels exactly the same way I do, he felt just as betrayed as I did at the time. He calls the asshole boyfriend 'the fucker'- mirroring my thoughts precisely on the guy now fucking my bitch ex. "Who's to say you won't either? It might help bring some confidence back in you that you've been lacking ever since it happened?"

"Like I said, I appreciate the suggestion, but I'm fine," I say dismissively, pulling my arm back. Smoothly, I whirl the club down, hitting the ball. It sails far into the air and I whistle appreciatively as it goes. "I have a wonderful daughter who I get along well with. As far as I'm concerned, that's all I need in my life right now."

Taylor groans in aggravation and I know I'm being stubborn. But it's just the way I feel.

"Just think about it," Taylor keeps up as I hike up the lawn to where my ball is. "It's all I'm saying. Keep it in mind." He follows me while practicing his swing. "Even if it's just for some harmless fun, it might do you some good. And I know Katherine will be happy to see you getting back out there and making an informed decision to move on with your life." Reaching over, he claps me on my back, a gesture of friendship, comrade. "This lady Gail knows, she's a real pretty, nice girl. Who knows? You might have some fun with her?"

I line up again, trying to focus, but then Taylor's at it again, catching me off-guard.

"Or maybe you're already back in there, you sly bastard," he laughs, and he slaps me on the arm. "You keeping her all to yourself while letting Gail worry?"

"What?" I turn to glance at him in confusion.

He jerks his shoulder, pointing out back towards the house, grinning. I look where he's looking and see her. Anastasia is standing by the window of my daughter's bedroom, peering outside at the lawn. I think perhaps she's watching us play. The realization and wrong assumption makes my cheeks sting.

"That's Anastasia, Taylor. She's my daughters best friend."

"Oh, whoops." Taylor cringes in embarrassment. "Sorry. Must be something wrong with my eyesight these days. Thought she looked older than your daughter is from where we're standing all the way back here?"

"She's only 17," I explain, shaking my head, horrified at the thought. How could Taylor even begin to get the impression?

While I'd enjoyed speaking to her last night, I'd never once considered looking at her in that particular way. Nor should I ever, of course. I would only be a pervert to, especially seeing as she's my daughters age, she's her friend.

She may seem wiser and more mature for her years, and yes, now that Taylor has made me think of it, she's beautiful and charming with her certain innocence and intuition.

I remember the way her finger stroked mine softly when I accidentally held her hand for longer than I'd meant to last night. How good it feels to succeed in making her laugh, in holding and obtaining her attention and interest.

The way she'd looked at me with those large blue eyes of hers when she stood near my daughter's closed bedroom door. How she appeared almost daring, almost... now come to think of it, as though she was wanting or expecting something from me before she went back into my daughter's bedroom.

I shake my head, turning away to carry on with our game.

Now Taylor's got me overthinking things. He's got me entertaining thoughts I shouldn't even begin to be thinking about in the 1st place.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

When I wake the next morning, I almost forget just where I am. I'm in a room that clearly isn't mine, the walls covered with posters of 'hot guys' and guys in bands- Kate's version of 'hot' anyway. Early Saturday light streams in from her white see-through curtains.

I sit up slowly against the headboard, staring down at my best friend Kate. I'm always the one who seems to be waking before Kate; Every time I sleep over here, I'll wake to find her still sleeping heavily. She basically falls into a coma when she sleeps, her blonde hair strewn around her pillow, her breaths shallow and restful.

Being careful as possible not to wake her, I grab my phone, checking the time on the screen. And it's only 8.00 in the morning... Sometimes I wish I was able to sleep in as well and late as Kate seems to be able to. She always looks so comfy.

Last night comes into mind as I trace around my lips with my fingers distractedly. Last night, sitting downstairs on the step, speaking to Mr Grey. I cannot suppress how glad I am to have had a moment in private with him, where we could hold a decent conversation together.

Then I remember the way he was crying in the kitchen and I immediately feel glum and not so happy. I've never really seen a man cry before. It depresses me that I found Christian, of all men, crying in the dead of the night in the kitchen. And to know it was over his ex wife too...

It's just really sad to know he's hurting. Maybe it's me idolizing him a bit too much because of this silly crush I'm nursing on him, but he's the last person I feel should be grieving over his divorce.

He's amazing. Funny, inspiring. A great dad to Kate, so interesting to talk to, amazing voice, wonderful body. Charming, and not to mention, _downright hot_. Like _fire sizzling_ hot. And he doesn't even know it.

He doesn't even know how gorgeous and wonderful he is. Maybe it's the fact that he's so humble and ignorant of his own good-looks and charms that makes him appeal to me so much? I don't know.

I actually felt an urge to kiss him last night. Which is ridiculous, I know.

But for a moment there, while listening to his spine-tingling voice as he spoke about being a supposed 'old man', I actually felt really tempted to lean down and kiss him while I was helping him up off the bottom step.

I'm sure he didn't even really need me to help him up, because I've seen him doing his early morning runs and even play golf with his security friend Taylor and I'm positive his knees didn't play up on him all those times that he did.

But there was a second there where I'd stared at his mouth, and I'd wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him, and what would happen if we did end up kissing. I know it would cause some serious problems and major conundrums if we ever did, and he probably doesn't even see me in that way whatsoever to begin with.

I just really wanted to kiss him, especially after seeing him upset and emotional the way he had been.

I really need to get my crap together and stop fantasizing or wishing for something that is unlikely to ever happen.

Curling my legs out of the sheets, I climb off the bed, moving around her room quietly in just my socks. I head towards the window, pulling back the white lace curtains gently as I peer out at the view.

Kate is so lucky. The Grey's even have a marvelous backyard, with a well-kept and maintained green yard that goes on for miles. It's also the area where Mr Grey, I mean Christian, loves to play his game of morning golf on early Saturday's.

The instance my eyes sweep over the raised part of the lawn, I see them standing together, talking animatedly while holding their long golf clubs. Christian Grey and his security guy, Taylor.

Christian's all rugged-up for the morning in a fleece blue jumper and denim jeans, with white sneakers. He always seems to wear only one white glove- on the dominant hand he uses to powerfully swing his club. It ashames me to admit I've been observing him playing golf with Taylor a lot, that I know all about that glove.

My infatuation is bordering on disturbing probably.

My best friend's sleepy, thick voice brings me back to the now. "Hey, what you looking at over there?"

My cheeks feeling warm, I immediately close the curtains up, turning back around to look at her. "Nothing, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the real world."

She sits up, her heavy-lidded blue eyes blinking around the room. "What time is it?"

"8.30 in the morning, I think."

"8.30?" Her voice is like a whine. "It's too early!" She flops back down onto her back with a sigh. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Fine then. I'm gonna go downstairs and get some breakfast then." I ask, even although I already know what her answer will be, "Want me to make you something?"

"Like you even need to ask," she grumbles into her pillow.

"Okay." I smile at the back of her tangled, blonde head. "Eggs on toast?"

"Hell, yes!"

I laugh as I grab my bag, unzipping it to slip into a warm woolen cardigan over my tank top. I head downstairs towards the kitchen, putting fresh coffee in the pot because I know Christian likes his coffee after a golfing session. Yes, I've been here enough times to know that, silly as it is. I find a pan and turn on the stove, getting all my ingredients prepared for breakfast.

I hear them on the patio talking just as I've switched on the toaster to toast some bread.

"Good game, Taylor," Christian says. "Here's your money."

"Very good game, sir. So what should I tell Gail?"

"Tell Gail fine, whatever she says. Get her to send her details through and I'll give her a call to set something up. Dinner, like you say."

My heart seems to stop when I make a bit of sense of Christian's words. Dinner? Send her details through? He must be going on a date or something. It shouldn't bother me the way it does. I mean, realistically nothing could- or should- ever happen. I'm his daughters friend, someone he could never see romantically. I'm way too young for him, and he's way too good for me, after all.

And after last night, how sad he was in his kitchen when he thought no one was looking, he definitely deserves to be happy, even if that means dating someone or meeting someone new. Besides, it has nothing to do with me. It's none of my business.

Trying to shake off whatever strange thing it is I'm feeling, I plop in four slices of bread, trying to focus on my main task of breakfast at hand instead of eavesdropping. Fortunately, the coffee starts brewing loudly in the maker, drowning out their voices.

Once the stove is heated enough, I pour in some oil, then crack the eggs. Then the toast pops up in the toaster, so I focus on spreading butter. I turn to locate a knife in the kitchen drawer to see Christian striding into the room, done with his golfing session. He peels off the velcro strap on his white glove, lifting his head to look at me. He seems to still from walking when he notices me making breakfast.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he says, in that spine-tingling voice of his.

"Morning," I murmur, turning away quickly. The conversation I overheard won't seem to leave my mind. I wish it would. Again, it has nothing to do with me whatsoever.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Yeah, I did. Really well. You?"

"I didn't sleep too bad. What's for breakfast this morning?"

"Eggs on toast," I explain, keeping my eyes low on the butter I'm spreading. "Would you like some as well?"

"Of course, thank you." He wanders behind me and I fight against the temptation to turn and see what he's looking at. "And you already turned the coffee pot on, I see?"

"I did."

"Thank you." I sense him standing around behind me as I put toast on three individual plates, but I'm not sure what he's doing. "Where's that daughter of mine?"

"Still sleeping upstairs." I wonder if he notices how I am only able to answer in short sentences.

"I guess I shouldn't have asked. _Of course_ she's still upstairs sleeping."

I hear a strange noise behind me, the noise of a zipper being pulled undone. And, stupid me, of course I immediately turn and look.

He removes his fleece jumper, folding it over his arm. Then, without preparing me whatsoever, he grabs the neck of his shirt, and he tugs, pulling the shirt he is wearing up and off his body. I almost drop the knife I'm holding, my eyes going right there to his bare chest.

Mr Grey has taken his shirt off in front of me a few times before. In all those times, I couldn't have looked away even if I'd had superhuman determination. It's embarrassing but his body is amazing, even for a near 40 year old. Toned skin and abdominal s, with muscular biceps. And there I am, frozen, ogling him as he waits for the coffee maker to finish, completely unaware. He truly takes my breath away.

Why am I so weird?

I hear the eggs and oil splatter in the pan and that requires my concentration very well. I turn away hurriedly to lower the heat on the stove.

"Tea?" His voice startles me, and when I turn to look at him with a questioning look, I make sure my eyes are on nothing else but his. His gray eyes stare back at me, waiting. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he explains further, and I feel so stupid.

"Oh. Um, yes, please."

He's made me a cup of tea quite a few times of a morning when I've stayed here during the weekends. He knows how I like my tea just like I know he requires his coffee.

"Good golfing game, Mr Grey?" I force myself to ask as I flip the eggs over. Conversation would really help right now. I feel like I'm hyperventilating at the knowledge that he's making me a cup of tea without his shirt on.

"It was. Taylor won this time surprisingly."

"Oh, no." I know that he and Taylor sometimes bet money. "How much did it cost you?"

"50 dollars," he admits behind me, sounding apprehensive.

I laugh, "Ouch. Bad luck."

"Yeah, and now his wife Gail wants to set me up with this friend of hers..." I'm not entirely sure whether he's meaning to let me know that, but after last night, I'd hope he'd know that he can confide in me and trust me. "I have a feeling that's going to be a sheer disaster."

"Oh." I try to sound anything but disappointed. It shouldn't surprise me, particularly when I heard them outside talking about it. "Why?"

"Because I haven't dated in an extremely long time, Anastasia. I can't see it going so well at all."

"Well, you never know," I mutter, trying to sound supportive. I force myself to say it while keeping my eyes on the eggs, though it feels hard, "It might do you some good anyway. It's probably what you need."

"You think? How so?"

"Because maybe you've been alone for a long time? 3 years?"

"Tell me," he says, and immediately I'm drawn to him at the desperation in his voice. He's holding both our mugs in each of his hands, my tea, bag in. His coffee. "I haven't done the whole dating thing since I was at least 17 and I met Kate's mother. How much do you feel its changed compared to back then as far as the whole... dating game goes and the rules in place for it?"

His question makes me speechless. I stare at him for a moment, before averting my eyes, taking my mug from him. "Um, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that. I..." I hesitate, feeling my cheeks go red. How can I tell him that I've never even experienced going out on a date with someone before? 17 and not even a single invite out to the movies from a guy at school. "I guess I'm the wrong person you should be asking, Christian. I really don't have any, um... experience with that." I laugh nervously, just to break the ice.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"I haven't done the whole dating thing since I was at least 17 and I met Kate's mother. How much do you feel its changed compared to back then as far as the whole... dating game goes and the rules in place for it?" The instance the question leaves my mouth, I wish I was capable of going back in time and erasing it from ever leaving my mouth.

Last thing Anastasia wants is me, Kate's father, an old codger, asking her for advice. She probably thinks I'm so idiotic. Only when I meet her gaze again, I realize she looks... uncomfortable? She can't even look me directly in the eye. Instead, she obviously prefers to stare at the tea bag simmering away in the mug.

"Um, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that. I..." She finally answers, then she stops again. I notice her cheeks redden slightly, adding color to her alabaster skin. Now why do I find that so strangely adorable and endearing of her? "I guess I'm the wrong person you should be asking, Christian. I really don't have any, um... experience with that." A breathless laugh escapes her, one that sounds nervous.

Seeing myself outside from another angle, it occurs to me what I'm doing. I'm just standing there, in front of her in what probably is to her in an extremely imposing way, not wearing my shirt, blistering cigarette burn scars on show, an old 38 year old man standing before her, practically blocking her up against the counter and near the stove. It's truly no wonder she seems so uncomfortable right now.

She refuses to look at me, her blue eyes remain downcast on her mug. Then she brings it to her lips, holding it just inches below her top lip, her eyes still looking anywhere but directly at me, her lips parting as she blows to cool her hot drink off.

She doesn't want to see my disgusting body. I'm an old flabby man to her. What the hell was I thinking, taking my shirt off while she's in the room? Clearly I wasn't thinking at all.

She clears her throat gently, hoarsely, her eyes still on her mug. She's going to tell me off, tell me to put my shirt back on. It's revolting her, seeing me bare-chested. But then her dark eyelashes sweep up as her front teeth catch that bottom lip of hers, tugging, pulling... and her eyes glide over my stomach and up my chest in one sudden brief move. She doesn't look an ounce disgusted at all. I have no idea what to think. She may as well be from another planet.

"I'm honestly... not the best person to ask for dating advice," she murmurs softly, surprising me.

Here I was, bracing myself for her to call me out on being inappropriate, that I'm disgusting her.

"I mean, um..." She shakes her head a little, releasing her lip from her teeth, and I can hear her breathing going heavier for some reason. It's like she's struggling how to breathe. "I wouldn't... know." She drags her eyes down to the liquid in her mug again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I mean, I just..." I see her roll her eyes, like she's annoyed at perhaps herself, then she clears her throat again. "I mean, all I can really tell you is that... you should just try to be yourself. That's really all, um... I can give you, as far as advice goes."

Using her other hand, she reaches up, scratching the side of her neck. I see her eyes roll in annoyance again.

"Be myself?" I repeat.

"Yeah, just... be yourself." Then she says, so low I suspect I've misheard her, "I mean, I've never had a boyfriend or been on even one single date before so..."

I can't help the smile that comes across my face after drinking a mouthful of my coffee. "What?" I demand, unable to believe her. "Did you just say that you've never even been on one single date before?" I know my daughter Katherine has been out on a couple of dates before.

At 15, I had the pleasure of intimidating some boy that intended to take her out to the movies. It's the highlight every father looks forward to when it comes to their daughters; Interrogating and putting off any potential boyfriends. But how can Anastasia possibly not have been on even one single date before with a boy?

"I haven't," she admits, pursing her lips over the rim of her mug. She drinks a mouthful of her English Breakfast tea, her throat muscles moving as she swallows.

Before I can ask her more out of general curiosity, a shrieking noise comes from the stairs, alarming me. "Gross, Dad!" Katherine stands there, still dressed in her pajamas, her blonde hair frizzy. "Oh, my God! Can you please put a shirt on and stop embarrassing me in front of my friend?" She covers her eyes in disgust. "Jesus!"

It must be an instinctive, automatic thing a father does. He has the power to embarrass his own daughter without even trying.

"I apologize," I say to my daughter, putting my coffee down. "I was just about to go take a shower anyway." I grab my shirt, covering myself back up quickly to appease her. "Sorry, Anastasia."

I think I hear her mutter something that sounds faintly like "Don't be" but I could be mistaken.

"How about you keep your shirt on next time?" My daughter whines, shaking her head. Finally moving her hands away from her face, she shakes her head again, staring at me with her eyebrows raised. It's a look that, sadly, reminds me of her mother; a spitting-image. "Not everyone wants to see your body, okay? Especially not my best friend! It's so frigging embarrassing!"

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

"Not everyone wants to see your body, okay?" Kate is almost screaming, while her father looks so embarrassed. Even with his shirt put back on, he goes to extra lengths to drape his fleece jumper over his stomach. I wish she wouldn't overreact because, really, I definitely wasn't complaining, but she's over-blowing it out of proportion. "Especially not my best friend! It's so frigging embarrassing!"

He mutters something about being really sorry, then he grabs his coffee cup, stalking out of the room upstairs to go take his shower, I guess.

But wow. I slurp in another sip of my tea while turning to check on the eggs, realizing I'm well overcooking them. His body. Wonderful sense of humor, charming, humorous when he wants to be. Humble. A great dad to Kate. So fascinating. And that body. The whole package. I mean, wow.

HOPE THIS ONE WASN'T BAD, I HAVE A FEELING IT WAS TERRIBLY WRITTEN. I WILL TRY UP THE PACE A BIT. LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT CHRISTIAN STARTING DATING AGAIN BY GAIL SETTING HIM UP WITH HER FRIEND? I THINK WE ALL KNOW HOW THAT WILL TURN OUT ;) SORRY IF I AM WRITING ANA A BIT CREEPY, I KNOW A REVIEWER SAID. SHE HAS JUST GOT IT BAD IF THAT MAKES SENSE? HOPING IT ISN'T HORRIBLE, I STILL GET SO STRESSED! THANKS FOR BEING REALLY KIND!


	8. Chapter 8

THANK YOU SO MUCH, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE. AND I PROMISE TO TRY NOT MENTION ANYTHING NEGATIVE ANYMORE, THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Your breakfast is served, madame," I say to Kate proudly, handing her one of the 3 plates with eggs on buttered toast.

She moans happily, accepting the plate while grabbing a knife and fork. She ends up sitting on the stool up at the breakfast counter, digging in. I grab my own plate and a fork and knife after putting Christian's breakfast in the microwave so he can heat it up once he's done showering.

"This is real good," Kate murmurs happily, her mouth full of toast and egg.

"Thanks. I'm pleased you think so." We spend a few minutes eating our breakfast in content happiness, our forks and knives scratching against the porcelain plate loudly. Then I remember how she acted in front of her dad. I know it probably isn't my place to say it, but I feel somebody probably should. Anyway, we're best friends. I figure we can say anything to each other without easily offending. "You know, you should maybe try taking it easier on your dad, Kate?"

Kate stares at me while she chews slowly. "You think so?"

"Yeah. I mean, he... he's probably been through a lot, especially with what happened with your mom. You should maybe go easier on him?"

"Maybe." She shrugs after swallowing, licking her lips. "But he knows I'm just teasing. It's what we do, me and my dad. We tease."

I'm not so sure it felt like harmless teasing, what she said about him though. "Well, make sure he knows that, won't you?" I murmur through my own mouthful of toasted bread.

I can feel myself going warm beneath Kate's green-eyed scrutiny. "Why would you care so much?" she asks, but she sounds curious more than anything.

"I don't know." I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. Of course I wouldn't tell her about what I witnessed, how her father was crying over her mom one night, how vulnerable he was. "I just do, I guess."

"We've always been that way, pretty much. Dad knows I'm always just playing around," she explains, reaching over the counter for an old glass in the sink. She fills it up with water, sipping it down quickly. "These eggs are cooked really good," she adds after putting the glass down. "You're a master at cooking." I feel like that's her subtle hint to drop it about her father and the way she treats him. I take her hint.

I laugh off her words with another shrug, "I try my best."

It takes all my concentration to keep my eyes on nothing else but the yolk smearing around my plate when Mr Grey, I mean Christian, enters the room.

"Something looks good," he murmurs, obviously talking about the eggs and toast I've made us all.

"I know, right?" Kate speaks up, saving me from having to talk myself. Instead, I focus on eating and enjoying my latest breakfast creation. "Ana put your plate in the microwave so you can heat it up, too. Yours has probably gone cold."

"Thank you," Christian murmurs in what sounds like pleasure. "I'm looking forward to this." I hear the microwave beep as he sets the time, then his breakfast starts on heating.

"Your welcome," I whisper, though I have to wonder whether he's noticed that I'm unable to look at him directly. The timer goes off, so he opens the microwave, grabbing his plate out. I still can't glance his way as he squeezes in beside Kate, collecting his silverware.

"Dad, you really need to hire Ana to be your house chef," Kate says teasingly.

I laugh at her comment, although I'm not completely sure whether it's a forced one or not.

"I wish," Christian replies with a sigh. "Wouldn't that be the life?"

I make my error, glancing past Kate at her father. I always have difficulty not watching the man while he eats. There is just something inexplainable about the way he does it that seems so automatically sensual. I know it's stupid, but I cannot look away. I stare as he meticulously slices the corners off his toast after piercing each egg with his fork so that the yolk runs everywhere on the bread. When he spears his fork through a toast slice, he pushes it into his mouth, savoring the meal I've cooked for him with a hum. When will I ever stop being so stupid when it comes to Kate's father?

And after our latest conversation before she interrupted us, how he confessed to me that he's starting to date again, I can't help feeling ridiculously upset and disappointed. Maybe that's why I can't seem to keep up with trivial, fun and light conversation this morning, like I usually do when I wake of a morning while sleeping over at the Grey's house?

In a way, I am so happy that he's beginning to date again. If anyone deserves to be happy in life, I know it's him and I know it will do him some good, definitely. I know that Christian would make an amazing partner to any woman he deems worthy.

Yet, at the same time, I feel so selfish and unreasonably upset, like... why can't it be me?

Of course, it can't be me. I'm too young for him. He's older than me, plus I'm close to his daughter. Of course realistically it could never be me, but it still hurts.

"What are you girl's up to today?" Christian speaks, in that spine-shuddering voice of his. I hate that I like everything about him so much, particularly the way his voice is. It's just not fair.

Kate answers for me. "We haven't got any plans as yet." To my dismay, she tries to get me to join their conversation, "Ana?"

I shrug again while deliberately shoving a large mouthful of egg inside my mouth as an excuse so I won't have to speak. It seems to work, because Christian is off with suggestions.

"Well, I was actually thinking of taking Grace out for a whirl?" Christian says meaningfully, and to my confusion, Kate seems to straighten up in her stool in excitement.

"Oh, my God," Kate mutters, her voice shaking with unconcealed excitement. I peer over at her in confusion. What is he even talking about? Grace? "Can we, dad? It would be so much fun and Ana hasn't exactly been on it yet!"

I haven't? I haven't been on what yet?

"Well, it is an incredibly nice day for it, and I'd be more than happy to take you both out with me?"

"Been on what yet?" I ask Kate nervously when we head upstairs to get ready. "What did you mean by that? What do you both want to do?" Kate suggests I wear something warm and practical shoes, but I have no idea why she is telling me to do that.

"The Grace is my dad's boat," Kate explains while searching through her wardrobe. It suddenly makes sense then. Oh. It's a boat. "He doesn't take me out very often. Please, can we go? I want to show you it?"

"Okay," I agree, somewhat cautiously. Me, with boats, is not a very good combination. I remember once my mother's ex-boyfriend had convinced me to go fishing with him while we were on holiday. I'd puked my guts out barely after 10 minutes of leaving the land. It was embarrassing.

But for some foolish reason, I keep my sea and motion sickness to myself. Kate seems really excited, and admittedly, I would love to see what Christian's boat looks like.

I'm happy wearing my woolen white cardigan because I know it's bound to be breezy and cold. But then Kate hauls out a pair of white, extremely short shorts. As in above-thigh-length shorts for me.

"Here, wear these," she begs, then she finds a yellow pair for herself.

"I don't know, Kate. These are too short. You got anything else?" I have never been one, like Kate to be all that confident with my body. My legs are definitely not my favorite part of myself; My legs are too thin and scrawny, too pale. And I bruise easily.

"I'm wearing shorts as well," she assures me. "And it's meant to be warm out."

"Fine," I murmur, cringing at the length of them still. But I give in, sliding out of my pajama bottoms and into the shorts. Even wearing them as I button them up, they feel too short and I feel too exposed with my legs.

But they'll have to do.

* * *

Just as I predicted, it's cold as Christian finally finds a place to park near the marina. We all climb out of the car, and Kate and I huddle close, shivering in our shorts as Christian leads the way to his boat. But as unpleasantly cold as it is, the suns still out and brightly shining. There is a large number of boats docked on the marina. I wonder which one is his.

I get my answer when he stops at one. I know nothing about boats, of course, but it's quite big. And painted white, with The Grace written in cursive in blue paint. It's probably the nicest boat here.

"Isn't she nice?" Kate says at my side. "She's one of dad's obsessions."

"She's beautiful," I murmur in amazement.

"We ready to come aboard?" Christian speaks loudly over the wind, capturing our attention. He's already stepped onto the boat. Kate goes first, letting her dad help her over onto it. Then he outstretches his hand, ready to help me. I think I catch his gaze trailing down my exposed, pasty legs, but I might be mistaken.

I feel my heart pick up in speed as, awkwardly, I take his hand. I step over, and then he lets me go, and I follow Kate while trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks as she shows me around.

She shows me a cabin area, which has an L-shaped creme sofa, and directly across from it, is a window that shows the beautiful view of the marina. To the left of us, is a kitchen. Everything is spotless and well maintained. There's even a fully functioning bathroom and a sleep area with a large bed. I can't help wondering whether her father has had women sleep with him in that bed very often. His ex wife. The thought makes me weirdly ill.

Suddenly, there's a daunting vibration that passes through the boat and I stare at Kate, wide-eyed. She only laughs at me.

"Relax, it's just dad getting the boat started."

"He knows how to steer and operate this thing?"

"Of course he does. We're safe. Trust me."

Following Kate back out, we step carefully over to where her dad is. I realize the boat is already moving, gliding smoothly away from its parking place in the marina. I find Kate's father standing by a large wheel and panel that has all these different dials and buttons. And just like that, I have found another reason why I find him to be so amazing.

He handles and drives the boat with ease, with expertise. He looks so relaxed and comfortable; The sea breeze ruffling his hair around, his shirt. I watch the sails ahead of us as they flap boisterously in the wind, the large expanse of sea opening up around us. It's so amazing, but that sensation... that pitching sensation, that back-and-forth rocking. I can feel the nausea beginning to settle in already.

"You girl's enjoying yourselves?" I hear Christian scream over the roaring wind.

Water splashes over the side of the boat, and then I hear Kate squeal loudly as it trickles over her clothes, getting her wet. Then she glances back towards where I am, weakly shuffling my way towards them, and she gestures with both arms. Her blonde hair is flying all over the place due to the wind, and I know my dark hair is too. No matter how many times I try to tuck my hair behind my ear, it comes flying out of place stubbornly. I can't even hear her through the wind.

I manage to reach where Christian is, standing behind the wheel, manning the boat. He looks like some experience Captain or sailor as he glances back at me. He makes a gesture with his hand, but I can't hear him all that well. I get closer and then the boat rocks viciously, sending me straight into him and the wheel as I lose my balance.

I don't even have the time to be truly embarrassed when he grabs me, both arms coming around me. I feel myself go red against the chilly wind as he pushes me up against the wheel, his groin and chest brushing up against me.

"Have you ever driven a boat before?" he mutters in my ear, speaking loudly against the wind. I think I feel his lips brush against my earlobe and I shiver. He can't tell that it's due to him and not the frigid wind though.

"No?"

"Then now's your chance."

"What?" I scream back, assuming I've misunderstood him.

But then he grabs my hands, and he guides them over the wheel, curling my fingers over the polished wood. It feels really good, and it's terrible of me, I know. The way his hands are over mine, the way his palms are over my knuckles, his groin brushing against my backside in my shorts, his arms around me... It feels so good.

"Hold her tight, Anastasia," he speaks in my ear again. "As tight as you can. Keep her straight in that position."

My eyes dart to where Kate is automatically. I wonder how she would feel if she could see me, the way I'm beaming and smiling inside, loving her father standing behind me, right up against me, his arms over me, hands covering over mine as he helps me guide the boat. Only, to my relief, she isn't paying us any attention; She's staring out at the sea, having found somewhere to sit on a lounge chaise. She's facing away from us anyway, her hair whirling around her wildly.

Suddenly, the wheel seems to want to push sideways, and it becomes exhausting, holding it straight. But then Christian grasps it tightly, wrenching it back and, stupidly, I crane my neck back, my eyes going straight to his mouth and his lips. He is standing so close, his face is barely inches from mine. I wonder what would happen if I finally kissed him, if I finally made a move, especially since Kate isn't watching. Only, as always, I'm too chicken and common sense wins.

"How fast are we going exactly?" I cry out, still watching his mouth.

I find myself fascinated by his tongue that peeks through his teeth a little as he speaks, "She's doing roughly around 15 knots."

"I have no idea what that even means?"

"Well, put in simpler terms, 17 miles per hour."

"17 miles per hour only? Damn, it feels so much faster than that!"

"Doesn't it?" He leans sideways slightly to glance down at my face, our noses almost touching. We stare into each other's eyes, the long strands of my hair flicking everywhere between us, the short strands of his hair windswept in the breeze. I think I almost see his eyes drop to my mouth themselves, as if he too is wondering about kissing me. Or maybe again, I'm just being pathetic and am imagining it?

Purposefully dragging my eyes away while biting down on my lip, I look forward at the large long expanse of blue sea ahead of us. I feel his hands squeeze tightly into mine, his warm larger palms massaging my knuckles.

And then I don't know why I do it, but it seems to happen, almost voluntarily, like my body has its own mind. I jut out my backside, swaying slightly in a deliberate yet subtle move. For all he knows, I'm simply swaying because of the rocking motion that boat is giving us from the waves.

I know he feels it against his groin the instance it happens; I know that we're standing close enough that all it takes is me to push out my butt a little, to move side to side. I feel it through the fabric of the shorts Kate gave me to wear; The friction of them brushing against the material of his trousers, his groin.

I massage my bottom lip with my teeth, waiting, dreading him saying something about it. Only it doesn't come, thank God.

The only thing I feel, is his groin leaning and pushing up against my backside again in response, before he slides his hands off mine and unwinds his arms from around me. It feels like a shock to my body as he moves a length away from me. He did it back to me. He pushed his groin back up against my butt in retaliation. I'm sure I'm not that deluded that I imagined it.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

I thought it would be a good chance to take the girls out, to be a good father to Kate. To show Anastasia, her friend, something she clearly hadn't experienced before. And it had started to be a nice, good day. Letting Anastasia take the wheel, guiding her along and explaining to her how to handle the wheel, how to steer something as powerful and heavy as a boat.

Until she did... that. I'm not even sure whether she knew she even did it or not. A twist of her hips, her backside hitting me right there, in that spot.

And then me, I did... it. Clearly, I was not thinking straight.

It's been so long since I've held a woman in my arms, since I've had one in front of me, my arms around them, standing real close. I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it.

How it feels to be a man again, to show my expertise, for someone to share the enthusiasm with me in learning something new that I was teaching them.

And then she goes and does that. It's purely accidental, I'm sure. Incidental.

But then I go and do that, I lean against her, I shove back into her as all the blood rushes straight down there, straight to my groin, and me doing it, I'm not even sure it was incidental for me.

Really, how it happens in the 1st place, I'm not sure.

But fuck. Sliding my shoes back so that I'm standing a fair distance away, it doesn't seem to help it. Particularly not that tingling sensation and heat, the rush of blood to the head. As it turns out, I don't need Viagra. I may be old, but I'm not that old. Apparently things are still functioning perfectly well down there. I just hadn't been sure.

"This is amazing," Anastasia calls with laughter through the whistling wind, as if it truly was unintentional, illustrating just how innocent and ignorant she truly is. It makes me loathe myself as I stare at the back of her brown head, the way her hair whizzes around us, whipping me in the face.

It was unintentional for her. Accidental even, because we were standing so close and the boat is evidently rocking wildly side to side.

But me, doing it back to her... I can't say it wasn't intentional. I am a terrible, terrible man. And now, I'm suffering for it and paying the price for my evil misdeed.

"Isn't it?" I manage to sound completely normal. I just hope she won't turn around to notice what's going on, the predicament I'm in.

"How long have you owned a boat for?"

It's really hard to concentrate right now. All I can seem to feel is... throbbing, heat. Constricting fabric on my trousers. Gushing blood down there. "About roughly 2 years." My bitch ex and I had fought about this once; She'd wanted a yacht. I think I may have even brought this out of spite, knowing she'd wanted it. To rub it in her face. But really, it's become a hobby to me, something I enjoy, boating. Not so much something out of spite but a serene hobby. "There's nothing quite like being out here alone, at sea. It's... serene and relaxing at times, despite the wind and the strong current." I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm babbling pointlessly, hoping to keep her attention elsewhere other than on the fact I've got an erection.

"It is serene and relaxing out here," she agrees loudly, then she turns back to look at me. My stomach sinks, but fortunately, her blue eyes remain on mine, bright, shining with excitement. There's definitely something about her; Her smile is infectious. She makes you happy, inside and out, this girl does. Odd to think, but it's surprisingly true. "Do you come out here much?"

"Unfortunately not often enough. Seeing as I work regular hours, I sadly don't get much time these days."

She turns back around, which, luckily for me, stays that way. She doesn't glance back at me another time, but the image of her face, the brightness in her eyes, how they crinkled at the edges with sheer genuine happiness while, here I am, utterly uncomfortable, the corners of my ears aching from the moist wind hitting them, terrible hard-on and all...

"Did you buy the boat like this or did you have to make restorations?" she asks, carrying on our conversation, startling me by how interested she seems. Kate certainly never seems this interested.

"I brought her like this, exactly as she is. I did pay extra for some personal touches, of course. Like the name The Grace painted on the side, for instance."

"Why The Grace exactly?" The wheel jerks suddenly, and I can see she needs my help again. She yelps softly in surprise, and I can't help chuckling as I reach over her arms, gripping the wheel tight again, straightening it up. I make sure I keep my distance this time. "What made you come up with that?"

Obviously Kate hasn't spoken about her grandmother to Anastasia. "Grace is my mother's and Kate's grandmother's name," I explain near her ear. "I named it The Grace in honor of her. Every week before Christmas, Kate and I take my mother out on an outing on the boat as a sort of new developed family tradition between us." I don't even know why I bother telling her this. No doubt, it's a bore to her. Yet something about Anastasia makes me feel comfortable sharing most things with her, mundane or not.

"That's sweet," she says in a tone of what seems to be real awe. "I bet your mother loves that."

"She does, surprisingly. Have you been out on a boat much?"

"Only once," she admits, but there's an embarrassed edge to her voice that captures my interest.

"What?" I ask curiously.

"It's embarrassing, but... the 1st time I went out on a boat, I puked my guts out. I had terrible sea sickness. My ribs were so sore afterwards."

"Jesus."Despite feeling sorry for her, I can't help laughing. Light conversation with her is doing wonders for my erection. Already, I can feel the blood and swelling somewhat deflating. "And how old were you?"

"I was only 13 when it happened. It traumatized me, how sick I felt. Because of that, I usually tend to avoid boats."

"And how are you feeling now?" I ask, concerned. I peer at the corner of her face, assessing her. She doesn't look green. A little red in the face which is probably from the wind, but not sick.

"I think I'm good. I actually don't feel sick on your boat. It's different for some reason."

I see my daughter far ahead of us sitting on the chaise near the hull, being antisocial. Her hairs flying around frantically from the wind, same as Anastasia's. Without thought, I lift both hands, smoothing back Anastasia's frizzy hair from the wind gently with my palm, being merely fatherly, of course.

"That's the bad thing about the wind, isn't it?" I mutter softly into her ear, my cheek brushing against the side of her cheek. Her cheek feels freezing from the moist sea wind. "It makes your hair knotted and frizzy."

I would do this for Kate anytime, though now that she's older, naturally she won't allow me to brush her hair anymore. I realize how wrong it feels, the instance my palms and fingers smooth back Anastasia's dark, shiny long hair. It doesn't end up feeling fatherly, partly due to my half-dying erection. It comes out feeling... wrong somehow. Sexual, in a sense. Inappropriate.

"Sorry," I mutter against her ear, stopping my ministrations quickly. "I used to do this with Katherine all the time. It's a hard habit to break."

"It's fine," Anastasia says back over the wind, yet her voice is unsteady, husky.

At least she's still staring forward, because I would absolutely hate for her to notice how uncomfortable I feel, how tight my trousers suddenly are. I've got an erection now- something I haven't experienced in a while. And having one in front of my daughter, in front of her friend, it's mortifying. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I truly am a dirty, perverted man for what I did to her, for pushing back into her. For letting myself get into such a state, into such a predicament.

This had to happen now, I think to myself in horror, panicking. I clench my eyes shut, focusing on calming down, on not stressing too much. This had to happen now during an outing with two young girls, one of them my daughter. And it had to happen all because my daughters friend accidentally pressed up against my cock, all because she rubbed against me with her backside through my daughter's shorts.

What is wrong with me?

WHAT DID YOU THINK :) PACE STILL OKAY OR DOES IT NEED SPEEDING UP? I WILL WRITE THE DATE BETWEEN CHRISTIAN AND GAIL'S FRIEND IN NEXT CHAPTER, AS WELL AS ANA CONFESSING TO HAVING A CRUSH ON SOMEONE OLDER (THE REASON WHY SHE HASN'T EVEN HAD A BOYFRIEND YET, ETC) WITHOUT HIM KNOWING IT'S HIM SHE'S REFERRING TO. THANKS FOR YOUR ADVICE, I WILL SPEED IT UP SOMEWHAT. AS USUAL, I VALUE YOUR OPINIONS AND LOVE TO KNOW


	9. Chapter 9

THANK YOU SO MUCH, I WILL TRY SPEED UP THE CHAPTER AND MAKE IT MORE EVENTFUL! JUST HOPE IT DOESN'T SEEM TOO RUSHED!

CHAPTER NINE

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

As my little "situation" clearly isn't getting better on it's own, I decide I have to take matters into my own hands.

"Er, I need to go to the bathroom," I state lamely, the only excuse I can come up with. "You think you'll be alright, Captain?"

Anastasia turns to glance over at me behind her shoulder; Her eyes wide, eyebrows high. The look is almost comical yet, dare I think it, also sweetly endearing. "Go to the bathroom? As in now?" Her voice is high and shaky with panic. "But your boat?" She shakes her head from side to side, strands of her hair still blowing around us wildly. "Um, Mr Grey, Christian, I...I don't know how to steer this thing properly?"

I scan our surroundings, squinting through the breeze and salt water that stings in my eyes. "You're doing great," I assure her, in my most gentle voice. "Just like I said, keep the wheel as straight as possible. There isn't any land ahead of us so you'll be fine."

Still, she doesn't seem too convinced. She bites her lip, glancing forward again towards the hull of the boat where my daughter is lounging around, being lazy and antisocial. "I... I really don't know," she mutters through the wind. "I mean, you really trust me to leave me alone steering this thing?"

"Of course I do. I'll leave her in your entirely capable hands for a few minutes." The quicker I get some privacy to attend to my situation, the better it will be. I'm reduced to feeling like an awkward, hormonal adolescent again."I won't be long, I promise."

She turns sideways again to meet my gaze, and for the first time, it occurs to me that she's shivering. Her chin is wobbling from the cold, her shoulders trembling. I can only just imagine how cold my daughter is as well, and crazily enough, she's in the thick of it, lounging around in the chaise near the hull where it tends to get dangerously wet with sea water splashing.

Luckily, I always come prepared with back-up.

"I'll get you and Katherine a jacket on the way back," I tell her. "I have spares in the cabin."

Leaving her to it, I practically jog towards the cabin, getting in doors. I open the inbuilt wardrobe I have in the bedroom, grabbing two jackets out, throwing them on the bed. Then I squeeze into the bathroom and shut the door securely closed, finally taking care of business.

Still, I don't even know what's wrong with me.

Shaking my head, I unbutton my trousers, yanking them down to my knees. Leaning a hand against the door for support due to the boats hazardous rocking, I grip myself with a sigh, shutting my eyes. I haven't had an erection for a while, probably because I've been too emotional and filled with grief for it to happen. Honestly, since the divorce, sex has been the furthest thing from my mind and my libido has since suffered.

My ex wife and I used to have a fairly adventurous sex life, but that was months before our final serious arguments started and how she began treating me with disdain and no longer was interested in sex with me. No doubt, the bitch ex and her asshole partner were fucking behind my back. He was probably fulfilling her 'need', so she didn't need to get any sexual relief from me. Jesus. Why is it that I am always thinking of her and feeling such bitterness all the time?

Shaking my head again to clear my mind, I lean my forehead against the cool door, focusing with my eyes shut, stroking myself. Down the shaft to the tip, tighten at the head, then up again. Repeat the process.

Fractured images fill my mind as I start breathing loudly, loosening up, getting into it. A beautiful pair of perky tits. A taunt, firm ass. Her ass gyrating up against my crotch while I helped her steer the boat. The soot-black thick lashes of her pale-blue eyes as she blinks up at me, curiously, inquisitively... How her lower lip seems to be perfectly plump, how she has a habit of sinking her teeth into it...

One last stroke as various images flash vividly into my mind, I come, shooting into my palm while stifling and muffling down my moan by slapping my free hand over my mouth. I shudder and pant heavily into my hand, everything clearing wonderfully. All that resentment and bitterness for the bitch ex disperses for one beautiful quiet moment.

And it's bliss, a satisfying peaceful calm wave of euphoria. Something I haven't felt in such a long fucking time. Perhaps I need to jack off more often?

Trying to calm my breathing, I focus on cleaning up. I grab a roll of toilet paper, cleaning the sticky after-come from my fingers and my hands. As I toss it into the trash, I wash my hands, wiping them dry on a hand towel. Then, slowly, I reach down, pulling up my trousers over my knees, my now-limp cock, making myself decent again.

Then it starts to sink in again, that disgust and self-loathing with myself. I brought my daughter and her friend out on a trip and, here I am, in the bathroom, jacking off? I got a hard-on because my daughter's sweet friend accidentally brushed her backside against me, something that was purely incidental and due to the swaying on the boat, nothing more, nothing less.

How utterly pathetic can I be?

Hell, if I was Anastasia's father and I knew her friend's father got an erection due to her, I'd castrate him. The mere thought of even some old fogey getting off on my daughter... I shudder and grimace at myself in the mirror as I breathe in through my nose deeply.

Grabbing the towel, I wipe around my forehead and my cheeks, trying to get that "dirty" feeling off me. But if I rationalize it, it's utterly normal. 9, 12, 18, 38, it's utterly a normal reaction for a man, boy, whatever to get an erection by simply something as innocent as a young woman's firm derriere brushing against their groin. It's natural and any man, my age, boy or otherwise, would have had the exact same thing happen to them.

It wasn't because I feel anything sexual for my daughter's friend. There's no... sexual attraction there. Intellectually, perhaps, because during our conversations together, she does have a tendency to make me feel happier and somewhat... appreciated when she shows interest in my interests. But that does not mean I want to do inappropriate things with a young girl my daughter's age merely because a natural reaction happened due to the friction of her backside brushing against me.

Feeling better, I comb my fingers through my hair, giving myself a stern warning to relax and let it go, that everything's normal, it doesn't make me a fucking pervert, before I open the bathroom door. I only just remember to grab the jackets on the way out to give to the girls.

Heading out with the jackets hooked to each forefinger, my eyes land straight on Anastasia from where she stands, manning the wheel. She looks like a natural, and I can tell she's relaxed now. She's more confident in her ability now.

Steering a boat isn't that complicated. Otherwise, if it was, I'd be a sheer failure at it myself, no doubt.

As I head towards her, my little session repeats in my head. What I thought of, at the time, almost senselessly, automatically to get myself off.

 _Her ass gyrating up against my crotch while I helped her steer the boat._

The closer I get towards her, the more I recognize she's wearing shorts that belong to my daughter. Seeing as Anastasia is taller than my daughter by a decent amount, they reach up mid-thigh. Her thighs are smooth and flawless, supple. No dimples or little stretchmarks yet.

"How are we doing, fellow Sailor?" I ask from her from behind, trying to make a joke. She spins her head back to look at me, taking in the jackets I'm carrying with a tight-lipped, genuine smile.

 _The soot-black thick lashes of her pale-blue eyes as she blinks up at me, curiously, inquisitively..._

"I... I think we're doing okay, Christian. So far I haven't rammed the boat into anything, so I'm assuming that's a good sign, right?" She glances down at her feet, removing her hands from the wheel quickly as she turns around so that I can help her put the jacket on. The jacket belongs to me, and of course, it's too big for her. The other jacket will even definitely be too big for Kate, but I'm sure that will make it all the more warmer. "Thank you, it's so much warmer now," she mutters, taking over. She quickly yanks the zipper up, before lifting her gaze to mine again fleetingly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

 _How her lower lip seems to be perfectly plump, how she has a habit of sinking her teeth into it..._

Oh, shit.

"You think you'll be able to manage a bit longer while I go check on Katherine and give her a jacket?" I ask, my throat tightening at the realization.

She nods and reaches over, her slender fingers curling over the wheel again. I shake my head as I force myself away from her, stepping carefully near the railing towards where my daughter is. Fuck, she was the attractive figment of my imagination, the inspirational fantasy inside my head to enable me to get off smoothly.

It was just thinking about her, I try to reason as I tread carefully towards my daughter, bunching up the jacket in both hands. Thinking is completely different from doing. I haven't met a woman in quite a while, so using her as inspiration, it was harmless. If I was intending to do something about it, however... Which I wouldn't, because that would be utterly inappropriate and indecent. She's a beautiful, intelligent thoughtful young woman. It isn't like I'm trying to be the Humbert to her Lolita or some shit like that. She'll never know.

"Hey, sweetie," I say, announcing myself over the rush of waves as I crouch down near my daughter. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," she mumbles.

"Here, put this on." I hand her the jacket. She does what I'm expecting her to do; She rolls her eyes. "You're cold, so wear it."

"Fine," she mutters again, this time with annoyance. "But I'm not even that cold."

"Really?" I chuckle as I reach over, pinching one of her legs, which is covered in goosebumps. "What do you call those then? You're shivering!"

"There, I put it on," she says after she zips it up, staring at me with playful defiance. "Happy now?"

"Very. I don't want you or Anastasia catching a cold out here." I peer back Anastasia's way quickly. "Why don't you tell her to come over and share the chaise with her?"

She shrugs while looking back herself, one hand going into her hair, smoothing the wayward strands of blonde hair out of her face, "She seems perfectly happy learning how to drive the boat with you."

"She's probably bored but is too polite to say it. Why don't you call her over?"

"Okay. I will."

I hesitate, before standing. I realize I really ought to tell my daughter about this thing Gail is arranging, but when I look her over, it occurs to me that I have no idea how to tell her. I have no fucking idea how to tell my daughter that Gail is setting me up on a date, that I'm going to try see someone, the 1st time in 3 years. Mostly, I'm worried about how Katherine will take the news. Will she be upset that I'm attempting to move on from her Mom? Will that make our divorce seem more real to her and, inevitably due to that, will it open up some fresh emotional wounds?

In the end, I give up, returning back to where Anastasia is. Talking to my daughter right now, when it's been a somewhat pleasant day, I don't want to risk somehow ruining it.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

After a very nice yet nerve-wracking time steering The Grace for a while, Christian takes over, sending me to where Kate is on the boat, relaxing in a seat. She shoves over so I can sit beside her, and we talk for a while about random things while staring out at the gorgeous view of the ocean. Then, about what seems half an hour later, Christian turns the boat around and we start heading back the way we came.

Once we get to the marina, Christian ties a rope around a staff, securing his boat. He helps us off one at a time; First, Kate, then me. I feel myself flushing when he grips around my waist strongly with both hands, his biceps flexing, helping me jump over off the boat.

The 3 of us return back to where Christian parked his car, and just my luck, I get the passengers seat this time right next to him, while Kate sits in the back.

"Hope you girl's had a good time?" Christian asks while slotting the key into the ignition, starting his car up.

"We did, Dad," Kate speaks up, sort of sleepily from behind me in her seat at the back. I can't blame her for feeling a bit sleepy and withdrawn.

Surprisingly, being on a boat and having the wind thrash you around takes a lot out of you.

"It was great, thank you," I murmur with a smile, and he glances at my side then twists back on the seat to check on something near Kate.

"Both securely buckled up?" he asks. I hear Kate sigh in the backseat.

"Yes, Dad. We are! You're so paranoid!"

"Just checking," he mutters, waving her comment off. "Better to be safe than sorry."

The car ride gets weirdly quiet after that. I try to keep my eyes on either my knotted fingers in my lap, or out the window at the view. But twice, I fail; Like always, my eyes are drawn to him.

The third time I fail, I stare at his hands, how his fingers are flexed tightly around the steering wheel. The prominent veins on his knuckles, the slight curve of his wrists. He has a light dusting of fair hair on his arms, just the lightest, fairest bit. I never knew it was possible to admire every part of someone, until... my crush on this man. My eyes roam higher, up his shirt, to the few buttons that are undone around the collar. Those small smatterings of hair around his chest, how broad his shoulders seem. Then... higher. My stomach squirms with a weird feeling as I watch his face. He is completely distracted and focused on driving, his expression absorbed. Then he brings out his tongue, licking his bottom lip as he drives. That squirming feeling gets even more intense.

I smile to myself as I force my eyes back down at my lap again. I feel all warm, all soft and melty. I really sometimes wish I would just get over this silly infatuation.

I hear him clear his throat gently next to me in the drivers seat. "So you had a good time?"

I peer up again, finding him staring right at me. He's directing the question at me, silly. "I did. It was great."'

"And you didn't feel too sick at all?" He's referring to my comment earlier when I told him about my 1st experience on a boat with one of my mom's ex's. My heart seems to race in happiness because he's remembered me telling him that. Not that it's even such a big deal, though, him remembering. He's just being his usual nice self, of course.

"Surprisingly no, I didn't. Not at all. It must have been... different when I was younger."

"Then I'm glad you enjoyed it. You handled the boat very well."

"It was very nerve-wracking," I admit with a laugh. "I don't know how I would have reacted if there was an iceberg or another boat suddenly there in front of us. No doubt, I would have panicked!"

"We'd have had another Titanic on our hands," he mutters in amusement.

"Exactly!" I agree.

He meets my gaze again as he chuckles at my comment, and my heart lights up. I really like that I can seem to make him laugh. When he laughs and smiles, damn. His voice is spine-tingling, but his smile and laugh... Now that's taking it to a whole new level.

God, I am so pathetic swooning over Kate's father. But I can't help it. Everything he does, no matter what, he's just plain, effortlessly... yummy.

I hear a weird beeping noise, and when I look over again, I see he's programming some weird machine on his dashboard. Probably a GPS. I realize it is one when a little map shows up.

"Someone's knocked out," he retorts next, and when I look at his face in confusion, I realize he's speaking about Kate.

I twist around in my seat, checking on her. And he's right; She's totally crashed, slumped over in the backseat, her mouth hanging open as she sleeps. I laugh quietly when I move to sit forward again, peering outside the windshield.

"It was a surprisingly draining day, being on a boat," I murmur softly, hoping to take advantage and keep the conversation running between us. "You don't realize how strong the wind is until you're out at sea."

"Well, you're definitely right on that."

I strive desperately for something else to say. I really want to talk more, to get to know him better. I think of something, but I don't know if it's my business or not. I risk it anyway, seeing as Kate's fast asleep. "Have you, um, told Kate yet about you going out on a set-up date?"

He sighs loudly and I watch as he runs a hand through his hair. I wish I could do that, but no, I can't. Of course I can't. Rubbing myself against him on the boat when he was standing behind me was risky enough. I don't even know what came over me to do that, but luckily, he didn't seem to notice.

"I haven't as yet, Anastasia," he admits, and when he meets my gaze, he looks conflicted. He glances back at Kate, to make sure she's really sleeping, I guess. "There was a moment there, when I handed her the jacket, that I thought about it. I'm just not sure whether to."

"Well, I think you should," I tell him. "I know Kate would be pleased to hear it."

"You think?"

"Definitely. She'll be happy to know that you're trying to move on. Ultimately, I think she just... wants to see you happy, as her father." _I want to see you happy._ _"_ So what's she like?" I ask, prying for more information. I know it isn't my business, but I'm curious. "The woman Gail is setting you up with?"

"I don't know as yet. I haven't met her."

"Well, do you..." I hesitate, biting my lip, feeling shy all of a sudden. I wonder if he'd let me ask. "Do you, um, sort of have any preference?"

 _"_ Preference?" He glances my way for a moment in confusion before peering ahead at the road again.

"Yeah, you know, like... preference when it comes to women?"

He laughs softly at my question again, in a sort of surprised, perplexed way. I really wish his laughs or his voice wouldn't make me so jittery. "Honestly? I have no preference whatsoever, Anastasia."

"So you don't even care if she's blonde or... or brunette?"

"No. I don't care about any of that at all. I don't care about the superficial side of it, to be honest."

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

Anastasia turning our point of conversation onto whether I had a preference or not in regards to the opposite sex, it's... unexpected. Surprising. I wasn't expecting it. I don't even know how to answer that. Do I even have a personal preference or something that I like? I haven't even considered that before.

"I suppose I just..." I begin, scratching my chin. It's so hard to put it adequately into words, I find. "I mainly care about finding someone that gets along well with Katherine. Someone who gets along well with both me and Katherine."

"Right." My gaze is drawn to her legs as she scratches her left kneecap. Her knees are bony, pale. Slender.

"Mainly, also... I suppose I want someone who holds the same interests as I do. Someone who has the same interests as me, so we're on... common ground."

"Interests? Like which ones in particular?" When I look at her, I see she's staring right at me, her blue eyes bright, curious. "Like boating? Or..." She pauses, her voice going breathless, elusively so, "Frank Sinatra music maybe?"

"Something like that, yeah. Just... the same interests that I do."

"And you don't... care about age or anything like that? That doesn't matter to you?"

"Not really, no. I don't really factor age as an issue." I really don't. Whether the woman is somewhat older or younger, I don't find it problematic at all. "At the end of the day, I suppose, it's merely based on common interests and whether that person fits well into your life. Age doesn't particularly matter to me one bit."

"Hmm," I hear her murmur thoughtfully.

When I look her way again, there's something about the way she looks that has me feeling strange. She isn't meeting my eyes; She's staring down at her knees as she twiddles her fingers around, a sort of shy wide smile on her face, her cheeks redder. Then she fixes up her brown bangs with her fingers, smoothing her hair down. I have no idea what that looks about at all, no less what she's thinking in regards to my comment.

"So you'd consider dating someone younger?" she asks, still staring at her fingers.

"Sure," I admit with a shrug. "If they were... younger within reason, of course. I wouldn't have any issue with it, to be honest."

"What does 'within reason' mean, though?"

She's really asking me all the sticky questions. "Well, I mean..." I lick my lips, thinking my words over carefully. How to explain? "Age wouldn't be an issue so long as the person wasn't too young." I shrug again, feeling like I've stumbled all over my words. This subject, I am finding, makes me feel rather uncomfortable. Instead, I try to turn it around on her instead, remembering what she'd told me when I'd foolishly asked her for dating advice. "What about you?" I ask.

Again, her expression and reaction to my question is hard to understand. It's almost as if she isn't there, as if she's somewhere else, that smile still there as she starts playing with the end strands of her hair, gliding her fingers through the ends. "What about me?"

"Well, you said to me earlier on that you've never even been on one single date before?" Just as before, I find that so hard to believe. How is it so? "How come?"

"I don't know. I guess... no one has ever really asked me out on a date before." Finally, she lifts her chin, meeting my gaze. She's squirming in the leather seat at that question, moving her thighs around. "And being best friends with Kate, all the guys seem to... like her and notice her more than me. I guess that's just the way it is."

I should be enraged at her telling me that so many boys are making the moves on my 17 year old daughter. Yet I'm not. All I can seem to be is skeptical due to what she is telling me.

"And you don't like anyone at school? There's no boys?"

"No, I... I don't like anybody from school," she admits, then she blurts out, "But I do like someone, but... I know he'd never be interested in me." She presses her lips together, dragging her eyes away from me to look outside the window, her cheeks going noticeably redder. She clearly hadn't meant to say that.

"Why wouldn't he be interested? Have you told him?"

She grows squeamish again, tapping her legs together in the seat. "I never could do that," she confesses quietly with a laugh.

"Why not? Is it because you're... shy?"

"Not necessarily," she mutters under her breath with a comical wince out the window.

"What's wrong?" I can't help asking with a laugh at her facial expression. "What was that face for?"

"Nothing. I just... Nothing."

The GPS tells me to take a right, and then we're back at the house already. And so soon.

I head up the drive way, still curious over Anastasia's reaction. But when I shift the gear into park after smoothly edging into the garage, I can tell she clearly doesn't want to continue speaking about it, as she throws her seat belt off hurriedly, getting out of the car. Unbuckling my own belt, I shift in my seat, finding my daughter awake, blinking around at our surroundings sleepily.

"Home sweet home," I mutter to her, then I get out of the car myself.

* * *

Date night.

Finally, the big night has arrived. After having received the details Taylor and Gail forwarded to me last week on the Monday night, I'd made the 1st move in calling this woman up that Gail apparently believes would be suited to me, making our plans for dinner.

The woman, who is to be my date tonight's, name ended up being Gia. Gia Matteo. Speaking briefly on the phone while making plans, she'd revealed to me that she works in architecture and that she designs houses for a living. Already, just by learning her profession, I wasn't sure we would have much in common.

But then after speaking a bit more, she revealed she had just gotten out of a divorce herself, 3 years of marriage, and that she had a son, Leo, who was only 9 years old. We had common ground in that we'd both recently gotten out of messy divorces. And also, the children that came from those marriages.

Her voice on the phone had sounded polite and well-spoken, yet there was a bit of an annoying, sickly sweet manner to the way she spoke. Almost as though she was deliberately putting on a younger, saccharine voice.

I'm sweating bullets by the time I have to get ready. I'd had the dreaded conversation with my daughter 4 days earlier and, just as Anastasia predicted, she took it extremely well. Too well.

She'd actually cried, which was the biggest shocker of all. She'd cried and hugged me, shoving her face into my shoulder for a long moment. It had been a long time that my daughter had been overly affectionate with me, but she'd told me that she was so happy for me. Even now, when I think back to her reaction days later, I cannot help feeling touched.

And now, my daughter is putting me through hell...

It's 2 hours before my 1st date in an extremely long time with a woman of the opposite sex, and Katherine demanded she get to help me pick what to wear for the evening. She also adamantly insisted I do not shave and keep the stubble look because, apparently, that appeals to a woman.

1st dress rehearsal, I come out of my bedroom wearing one of my work suits, walking to where my daughter and Anastasia sit on the stairs, waiting for me to show them, to get their seal of approval; A nice Armani suit that I've always felt comfortable in, particularly when doing business.

The instance I come out, imitating one of those male models, Kate groans in disgust. "No, no," she mutters. "Absolutely not, dad. It looks like you've just come from a business meeting! Right, Ana?"

I glance over at Anastasia beside her, who has been oddly quiet all night. She hadn't said much all day, which was... odd for her. I get the feeling something is bothering her but I cannot tell what.

"Yeah, it looks too... boss man," she mutters, agreeing with my daughter's sentiment.

I didn't realize finding something to wear would be this hard.

2nd time, I go for something more casual. Jeans, and one of my golfing shirts with sneakers. When I head out, my daughter makes a very nice gagging noise while Anastasia makes a cut-throat gesture with her hand.

"You look like you're going golfing," Kate says in disapproval. "Definitely not that one either."

Sighing loudly, I head back into my room, peeling off my shirt. I chuck it down on the floor. These girls are impossible to impress!

3rd time, same jeans but with a sweater this time. A grey sweater. Finally, Kate doesn't make a rude noise. She considers, looking me over, while Anastasia does the same. I feel like an ant been inspected beneath a magnifying glass.

"That's definitely better," Katherine says, and my shoulders sag in relief. Finally, thank fuck.

"Yeah, it... it's casual but still well put together," Anastasia agrees.

As if getting bored of the show, Kate sighs loudly then gets to her feet, stomping downstairs towards her room. Anastasia remains, her elbows resting on her knees.

"You look really... great," she murmurs, rather shyly and embarrassed. "I bet your date tonight, I bet she'll, um..." She moves her eyes down to her hands, playing with her fingers. "I bet she'll think you look really handsome."

"I hope so. You girls are really fussy and hard to please!"

"Kate, maybe," she says with a short laugh. "Kate may be, but not... me."

HOPE THIS WASN'T VERY BAD? I TRIED TO SPEED IT UP A LITTLE, HOPE IT NOT TOO RUSHED? QUESTION- SHOULD I WRITE THE DATE FROM CHRISTIAN POV OR SKIP IT UNTIL HE GETS HOME TO EXPLAIN IT TO ANA ON HOW IT WENT? I AM THINKING OF DOING A TIME JUMP SOON, BUT NOT SURE WHAT WILL BE THOUGHT OF IT.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

"Alright, I'm heading off now," I shout out towards my daughters bedroom while grabbing my car keys. Anastasia follows a step behind me as I race into the kitchen, my mind frantic. I don't even know how I am going to survive this frankly.

I turn to glance at Anastasia with a forced smile, my palms already sweaty and my fingers shaking as she leans by the kitchen wall with a shoulder, biting her thumbnail. It's funny how Anastasia is always there to be relied on, whereas my daughter disappears and is nowhere insight when I need her support the most on this.

But then, to my relief, my daughter clambours down the stairs and my heart lifts.

"Good luck, dad," she says, opening her arms to me. I step forward, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight, resting my chin on top of her scalp. Looking past her head, I see Anastasia still standing where she is, by the wall. Only this time she's inspecting her fingernails heavily, somewhat embarrassed or like she's afraid she's invading on our sentimental moment. "Like I said, I'm so happy for you. Just relax, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur.

She separates from me, and then, surprising me, Anastasia pushes off the wall and, next thing I know, her long arms are around my waist and she's hugging me as well. I was not expecting that from her, honestly. I had hoped for it from my daughter, but... I wasn't expecting it from her. Am I that fucking obvious with how nervous I am? Probably.

My hand goes up to the back of her head, my fingers squeezing into the back of her soft hair, chin resting against her warm hairline. She smells clean, fresh, like shampoo. Again, because she's not my daughter or anything remotely close to it, it feels... sexual. I don't know what it is that makes me feel that way exactly.

"Good luck, Christian," she murmurs softly into my sweater. "You'll do great."

Awkwardly, we pull apart, Anastasia clearing her throat loudly.

"Alright," I mutter again, glancing between the two girls. "I shouldn't be too long. You both know where everything is and what my number is if there's an emergency."

"There won't be an emergency, dad," Kate assures me. "Take as long as you need."

Inhaling in deeply, I check my watch, pulling up my sleeve. Fuck, if I keep standing here, I'll be late. With one last smile at the girls, I head outside the front door, strolling to where my car is parked in the garage. I get in, starting to the ignition. Then I check my jean pockets, making sure I've brought both my phone and my wallet with me. I have, thank God. I'm all good and set to go.

I can feel myself perspiring heavily beneath my sweater as I pull out of the driveway.

How pathetic. I can handle easily being in a room with multiple staff or investors. I can handle public speaking to an entire board, without even so much as breaking out in a sweat.

I was present and supportive during the birth of Katherine, while her mother was in labor, crying out and moaning in pain. I was there holding her hand as she held it extra tight in a death-grip, I was even there to cut my daughters bloody umbilical cord without passing out.

I've survived those difficult teen years of raising a daughter as a single father. A few times, I've managed to line up in a grocery store with several packets of tampons and didn't even blush when the person behind the counter noticed them.

I can handle all of these challenging things, yet why am I so nervous and sweaty now?

Surely, a first date with some woman is easier compared to all of these numerous things?

Hitting a red light, I slow down, reaching down to wipe my moist palms over my jeans. I breathe in and out deeply through my mouth, trying to keep calm as I wait. Then I switch on the radio, pressing 'play' on the CD I have in there.

Frank Sinatra's blissful voice comes out of the speakers, surrounding me, easing my mind. When all else fails, Frank Sinatra's always there to pick me up again.

As the lights turn green and I'm free to go, I try to focus on nothing else but the lyrics and words to his music, muttering them to myself, using it as a distraction from my nerves.

I hear my phone go off in my pocket with a text, but if I pull over now to check it, I'll risk being late. I'll have to wait until I get to the restaurant first. If it was anything serious anyway like an emergency with Kate, she'd call rather than text. Clearly it can't be something too important.

Putting on the blinkers, I turn right into the restaurant where I will be having my 1st ever date with a woman. Since I met Katherine's mother in school, we hadn't needed to date much. We always took advantage of our lunch breaks or afternoons to spend time together.

Finding a space, I ease into it, shutting off the engine. Then I burrow my phone out of my jean pocket, opening the text.

Another unexpected surprise. It's from Anastasia.

 _Remember what I said, my little 'piece of dating advice' before. Just be yourself, because the real you, it's amazing. Trust me._

After the writing, she's added a little face with red cheeks _._

It's like the words she has written in the message alone are enough to make me feel immediately better. Suddenly, just like that, my tense shoulders relax. That knot in my stomach eases. I'm smiling at the little face icon she's added, which has made me feel oddly relaxed in turn. Again, it's so nice, the fact that someone has faith in me at the very least. Anastasia has confidence in me, she believes in me. Sad that it had to be her and not my daughter that is sending me reassuring words of encouragement, but clearly that is where Anastasia is different. She's thoughtful. Like I told her one time-intuitive.

I realize, lately, during our past conversations, Anastasia has truly been the only one holding me up, the only person really encouraging me, praising me. Telling me I'm 'amazing', that I'm apparently not boring. I don't know whether she's simply doing that to be kind, but seeing as she's been consistent, it truly must be the way she feels about me. And the fact that she does, the fact that someone does, it's definitely inspiring.

I think about last weekend, on The Grace, how things happened involuntarily. My bodies reaction to her.

It hasn't happened since then, thank fuck. But it's always constantly there, playing in the back of my mind, how she caused a sexual reaction out of me, out of my body. How, in order to jack off to completion, I'd thought about an extremely vivid, attractive vision of a young woman, who so happened to be her.

It hasn't actually been uncomfortable around her while, knowing at the back of my mind, I'd had such a physical reaction from her. I believe I've berated myself enough for it, frankly.

I type back quickly out of politeness: _Thank you._

I shove my phone back into my pocket, making quick attempts to make myself look more attractive. I comb my fingers through my hair, check that I don't have any food on my face or toothpaste. Then, bracing myself, I force myself out of the car, locking it up. Unfortunately my hands feel sweaty again as I enter the restaurant, though something about Anastasia's message has given me a small rise of courage.

Be myself. Yeah, if only it was that easy?

"Can I help you, sir?" The woman behind the reservation desk asks once I get in.

I stop at her question, breathing for a moment. Act like your in a business meeting. How hard can it possibly be?

"Actually, I made a reservation last week under the names Grey and Matteo?"

"Oh, yes. Your date has already arrived." She points out my table and I see her, sitting there, this woman that Gail assumes will be good for me. The woman, Gia, sits up straighter in her seat, waving at me. Then she stands up from her chair, just in case I never saw her the 1st time, I suppose. She's got short blonde hair, and she wears a tight white blouse tucked into a grey skirt. She may as well be another one of my assistants at work.

I can do this shit.

"Good evening," I say once I reach her, and we do that awkward cheek-kiss thing.

I get a whiff of her perfume. It's as though she has doused herself in it; It's too strong, it stings my nostrils. I try not to cough as I help her back into her chair. It brings me back to how Anastasia smelled tonight when we hugged, for some reason. The way she smelled, it was not offensive. It was pleasant, natural.

"So glad you could make it. You must be the infamous Christian Gail has spoken to me about?" "

"I'm not entirely sure what it is that Gail has told you about me exactly, but that's right. Christian. Christian Grey."

"So nice to meet you at last!" There. There's that voice again, like the voice she had on the phone. Grating, annoying. Overly sweet and light, like she's trying to sound younger.

Immediately, I get the unnerving impression that this will not go down so well. Men, just like women, base their 1st impressions solely around a physical attraction to the other person. With Gia, while she's well-presented and beautiful, I just don't feel that often preached about 'spark' when meeting someone. If I compare it to say, Anastasia for lack of a better example, something's... missing. A feeling of pleasure and personal fulfillment when speaking to her. A certain lack of... excitement, of pleasure to be around that person; something I've strangely come to develop around Anastasia.

But it's judgmental of me, I know, considering I have only just met the woman and laid eyes on her. I shouldn't be comparing her, especially not to... a young girl, of all things. It's baffling that I even am, that it even crosses my mind.

I should really give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, I'm certainly no lottery prize myself.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

After heating some popcorn in the microwave, Kate and I have retreated to the couch, watching a movie. We're both equally as distracted though, with glancing at our phones; Me, to see if Christian will write anything else to me while I hesitate with indecision on whether to write something else. And Kate; texting someone that I don't even know the name of.

"Who are you texting?" I ask her curiously as I grab a handful of popcorn.

She smiles at me while crunching on a mouthful of popcorn herself. "Paul," she admits.

"Paul? As in Paul Clayton from school?" I'm shocked. I had no idea they were even texting each other.

"Yep. We exchanged numbers last week and have been texting ever since."

I know Kate has told me that she thinks he's hot but I had no idea they were at that stage of texting each other in secret. "Wow. So what have you guys been texting about?"

"Just stuff. Just the regular getting-to-know you stuff. He asked me just then if I was a virgin."

My eyes widen as I laugh out loud at her words. "Really? And did you tell him?"

"Well, I couldn't lie, could I? So of course I told him I'm a virgin. He just said that he's fingered a girl before and felt her up."

"Nice," I murmur through a crunch of popcorn, wincing.

"I definitely hope he'll ask me out," she continues, her fingers tapping rapidly on the buttons to reply something to him. "I'm really bored of being single, you know? I mean, aren't you?" Before I can answer, she goes on, "Everyone these days at school practically have a boyfriend, they're all coupled-up. I'm sick of missing out."

"Well, I don't think I like any of the guys at school," I admit to her, though I'm not sure if that's treading on thin ice. "Some of them are good-looking, sure, but... sometimes they lack stimulating conversation."

"You talk to Jose a lot though?"

Jose Rodriguez is another guy in our year. I do talk to him a lot, I suppose, but mainly on a friendly basis. Sometimes he is too hard and distracted to talk to.

"I tried to talk to him about this assignment we have coming up in English and he ignored me and started talking about something else instead," I explain to her in frustration. "He did that when I started talking about Revolutionary Road, the book your dad lent me. It's so hard to speak to him about serious things sometimes."

"Well, we're young. We have all the time in the world to start being serious, right?"

I fall silent after our conversation, feeling like Kate doesn't truly understand. I turn my eyes to the screen instead, watching the movie. Then I check the time on my phone. 30 minutes has gone past since Christian left for his date. I wonder how it's going?

I feel a little depressed honestly, and as though I'm caught in a desperately hopeless situation. It feels super selfish of me, but there's a part of me that hopes his date tonight goes horrible and that he doesn't like the woman. I know it's horrible, because another part of me know he deserves to be happy and to find someone. I just feel sad because I know that person could never be me.

He obviously will never see me in the way I want him to.

I just feel like it's a lost cause. I should try to give it up, to get over him, because it will never happen. But it's difficult when I see him every weekend and literally spend every minute here talking to him, which is something I really enjoy. I love talking to him and having conversations, no matter what they are about. He's never boring to me, he's always interesting and exciting and charming.

Even last weekend, in the car when he drove us back after sailing on his boat, I'd confessed about liking someone. He didn't even get the hint that it may have been him. Which, really, I am glad that he didn't, because it would be embarrassing and he would have only rejected me anyway. God, I feel so lost. I don't know what to do.

Tonight, he looked so good in all the clothes he showed us. If I was the lucky woman and he came to our date wearing even just boxers and his single white golfing glove on his hand, I would still find him to be the most attractive and fascinating person in the room.

My heart just feels constantly heavy and I can't seem to concentrate. Not on the movie, or Kate, or anything. I keep counting down the minutes, fretting about what he's doing right now. Are they hitting it off? Are they laughing while drinking wine? Are they already making plans to see each other again? I felt it all today, it was such a weird mood to be in, all because I knew he had a date tonight and that he would be seeing a woman.

I've never been in this situation before, obviously. It's so difficult and confusing and frustrating and heartbreaking. I want all these things, yet I don't want them, because a part of me wants to be always nice and supportive and selfless.

I just don't understand why I can't be like Kate, in some ways. Why can't I just have a crush on some guy from school instead of being in such an impossible, hard situation like this? Why can't it just be easy, and I like some guy at school who I can actually be with, who actually is my age and he isn't my friend's father? Why do I have to be consumed with thoughts, fantasies, hopes about him, of all people?

Why can't it be someone else instead?

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"I am so glad you opted for dessert. I should be watching my calories but one night won't hurt, will it?"

Already, we've gotten through our entrees and are onto main course. This woman, Gia, I find, is a fast talker. She talks so fast, so animatedly. About her son, about her profession, about how she's watching her weight. I can almost feel a headache growing.

I reach for my wine, taking in a sip. She let me pick the wine, at least. I'm good at picking wine. The only thing I'm probably really good at.

"You know, some of the Mom's at Leo's school have told me that some of the other boys in the older grades call me a M.I.L.F," Gia goes on through a mouthful of her salad. She was adamant on ordering salad, but she'll have one bad meal tonight- she'll allow herself to share dessert with me. Her words, of course.

It's hard to keep up. I swallow my mouthful of wine, staring over at her in confusion. "I'm sorry. They say you're a-what?" I haven't even heard the term before. I have no idea what she's talking about.

"A M.I.L.F," she explains eagerly, leaning over the table. "You know, as in... a Mother you'd Like to..." Here she lowers her voice, her eyes bright with manic excitement, like we're sharing something naughty, "Fuck," she mouths at last.

I almost choke on my second mouthful. I was not expecting her to say that at all.

She leans back in her chair, beaming, like it's an honor to be thought of in that way by children. "Yeah, it's true. I couldn't believe it myself. But you must get that yourself, right? Especially when you take your daughter to school and the little girls see you?"

"I... I'm not so sure I understand?"

"A D.I.L.F," she carries on, using her right hand animatedly, fluttering it around her chest. "You know, the male version? Daddy you'd Like to Fu-"

"-Oh, I think I get it now," I cut over her, not entirely comfortable on what she's speaking about. Where did this topic of subject even come from?

"I imagine that you do." She winks at me. "I'd certainly put you in that category myself."

I am not coy by any stretch of the imagination, but Jesus Christ. I stare at her as she shovels a mouthful of grated carrot into her mouth, taken aback by her bluntness. Is that really how it is nowadays? Is this how dating is? It's so... forward and vulgar now, with sexual intentions made implicitly clear after only just a few hours?

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

The movie ends, and we change it to another one instead.

Kate's distracted, texting Paul on her phone, but to be honest, I'm not exactly paying any attention to the films myself.

I keep wondering what he's doing. An hour has gone by now. A full hour and 20 minutes.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

Finally, our dessert arrives; A neatly arranged chocolate pana cotta with strawberries on the side and two silver spoons. The waiter places it down in between us, and I watch Gia lick her lips as she inspects her dessert hungrily.

"Mm, looks delicious," she murmurs in happiness.

"Doesn't it?" I'm still frankly trying to move past the MILF and DILF comment that she made.

We each reach over, grabbing a spoon each. Then there's a moment where we stare at each other, her blue eyes peering into mine, filled with uncertainty, with a certain mischievousness.

"So who goes first?" she asks as if it's an exciting game between us.

"You," I urge her. "Ladies always first." And she's all too happy to evidently.

Licking her lips again, she breaks the edge of the chocolate pana cotta off with her spoon, then meets my gaze again. She holds eye-contact as she scoops the small bit of dessert into her mouth with a moan. Is this her attempt at seduction or something?

"Yummy," she moans, and as she brings out her tongue again to lick her lips, I see her tongue and teeth are brown due to the chocolate. "I don't believe I've had pana cotta before. It isn't sickly sweet, either."

"I don't have desserts much myself," I admit, and leaning both elbows on the table, I reach over, getting my spoonful, pulling the center apart. "Considering how I have a teenage daughter who loves her sweet things and her chocolate, you'd think I would, though."

Gia stares at me as I pop my spoon into my mouth. As I drag it out while meeting her watchful gaze, I think she looks a little embarrassed for once. She averts her eyes back to the pan acotta as she gets another spoonful, her cheeks flushing slightly. Then again, it's hard to tell. I think she's wearing a lot of make-up, I don't know why. And she's right; The dessert isn't too sweet, thank fuck. I hate too sweet things.

"As I told you on the phone, my divorce with my ex husband was finalized just 3 weeks ago," she begins through her mouthful, her voice dropping it's sweet edge. She sounds shaky with bitterness. "I didn't think I'd even be here, sitting here right now, especially with another man so soon."

I stare at her for a moment, cocking my head to the side. Perhaps we aren't so different after all?

"Me either, to be honest. Though it has been 3 years for me, as I said."

"Bastard," she spits out, her eyes narrowing. I'm assuming she's speaking about her ex and not me. "I caught him with her. He was supposed to be out working early, and I had gone to the shop to get some groceries. I came back and..." She pauses, her eyes filling with tears, "I heard these odd sounds. Stupid me, I'd thought someone had broken into the house."

I nod for her to continue, my mouth full of pana cotta.

"But no, he'd just brought her back, thinking I'd be away for longer." Her voice drops to a bitter, low hiss. "They were fucking in our bedroom. Can you believe the nerve he had?"

"That's rough," I mutter. I know better than to say how sorry I am. I hate it when people apologize when you announce you're getting divorced.

"I'd brought a knife up with me to the room because I assumed it was a robbery or home invasion, and I was scared." She stares down at the dessert plate, her hand shaking as she grips the spoon tight. "It's terrible but... when I realized what it really was, the 1st thing that went through my mind was..." She shakes her head, covering her mouth. "I wanted to chop his dick off, honestly! Just slice it right off!"

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

It;s just reached 10.00 in the evening when Kate decides to call it a night. I still feel wide awake and too restless to sleep, so I hug her goodnight, instead deciding to make myself a warm mug of tea while waiting up.

I don't even know what I'm doing, really. I should go to bed too. I shouldn't be waiting up for Christian to get home, but I can't help it. I really am anxious to know how his date has gone. Anxious and dreading whether he's come bearing news that he really likes her, not that it should be any of my business.

I head into the kitchen, grabbing a teabag and mug. I lean against the breakfast counter while I wait for the kettle to boil, my arms crossed over my chest. I can't help drumming my fingers over my ribs nervously.

If he ends up coming home with her, I cannot deny I will be devastated. I know it's selfish of me, but it's true and I can't stop myself from feeling that way. Maybe I'm a horrible person?

The kettle finally stopping, I grab the handle, pouring steaming hot water into my mug, letting the bag defuse. Then as I go to grab milk out of the fridge, I hear the startling noise of the front door unlocking then being shut and locked back up again.

Heart failure. He's home now. What's the verdict?

I hear a weird banging noise, which makes me suspect he's tripped over something in the living room. It wouldn't surprise me if he has. Kate and I left the lights off with only the movies we were watching on. It's sort of hard to see and I hadn't bothered switching a light on before I thought of going into the kitchen to make my tea.

I pour in my milk, listening carefully.

Then I hear a sound that makes my heart sink. Oh, no. Is he crying again? Is he emotional?

Without a further thought, I head out into the living room. I can only just see him, lounging on the couch. As I move over it, the light reflecting from the TV illuminates him somewhat. He's got his head in his hands. But then he makes that noise again, and fortunately, it sounds more like laughter than crying. He's laughing in a sort of... shocked way?

"Hi," I mutter, making myself known.

"Jesus." He jerks on the couch like he's startled, his head turning into my direction. "Anastasia, you scared me. You could have given me a heart attack!"

"You're too young to have a heart attack," I point out, nursing my warm mug in both hands carefully.

"What are you doing up so late? Where's Katherine?"

"Kate went to bed early and I, um, I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd make myself a cup of tea." I help myself, sitting beside him on the couch. My shoulder accidentally brushes up against his warm sweater, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against my pajama bottoms. "How did your night go with your date?" I can't even hide how eager I am to know. I sound so overeager it's embarrassing.

I glance around the room, double-checking she's not there as he buries his face in his hands again, laughing again; his chuckles muffled in his palms. It's terrible how relieved I feel that the woman hasn't come home with him. Does that mean the date didn't go so well?

"What?" I demand curiously with my own smile when he laughs to himself again. "Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, God." He runs both hands through his hair, sitting up. "You really want to know how it went?"

"Yes, I do."

"It was a..." He shakes his head, like he's searching for the right words. "It was a sheer... disaster."

Disaster. My stomach does somersaults in glee. "What makes you think it was?"

"It really was." Christian sighs heavily as he drops his hands into his lap, shaking his head again. "I should have already known. She was 3 weeks. 3 weeks fresh from a divorce."

"So what happened?" He probably doesn't even want to talk to me about it but I persist anyway. I really do want, and need, to know. "Tell me the details."

"No, she was nice. I could... sympathize and understand what she was going through completely. The anger, the... hurt."

"So you liked her then?" I ask, but then I cringe at how high my voice sounds, how paralyzed I feel at what the answer might be.

"She was nice," he says again. "But no. Considering how much of a sheer disaster tonight was, I can honestly say that we won't be seeing each other again."

That anxious little bubbled knot seems to loosen in my chest.

"I have no... other way to describe her but... she was a sexual predator, in a sense."

I laugh at his words. "Sexual predator? How?"

"Well, she was very... aggressive. She got even more aggressive by the time dessert was over. She started talking about how at her son Leo's school, all the boys in the higher grades call her a MILF. Then she said that no doubt I must be considered a D.I.L.F as well at Katherine's school."

I feel my eyes bug out, incredulous at what he's telling me. He's right. It's so bad, it's hilarious. "Seriously?" I can't help the laughter that escapes me. "She actually said all that? Even that you were a Dad-"

"-You know what it means, the term?" He asks me in surprise.

"Of course I do."

"Even Katherine?"

"Yes, even Kate! Everyone uses that term pretty much!"

"How did I not even know about that then?" he asks out loud, to himself, I think. Then he laughs quietly again. It sends a delightful tingle up my spine and I shiver uncontrollably at the sound of it, his laugh.

"What else happened then?"

"She told me about how she'd come to divorce her husband, and the... affair he'd had with a younger woman that he employs at his work." I think it's helping him, getting it all out. He sounds on the verge of even more laughter, which is good, especially for him. He needs to laugh it off, because it'll help. "How she'd caught them in bed together, how she'd brought a knife upstairs with her to the bedroom. Then she said all this other stuff, which... I won't repeat for the sake of sparing you the gory details."

I feel hurt at him deciding not to tell me all of it, but I try to get past that anyway. I take a sip of my tea.

"Then while we'd eaten dessert, she'd dragged her chair over to my side of the table."

I stare at him in the shadows, literally hanging off his words while drinking my tea.

"Here's where the 'sexual predator' part comes in. Sitting next to me, she tells me how she hasn't slept with anyone new since the divorce, and she starts massaging my thigh beneath the table."

"Seriously?" Just hearing him tell the story, I feel embarrassed for him myself. "You're right. It was awful!"

"She tried to convince me into coming home with her and, all the while, as she was massaging my thigh, I realized... I was absolutely not ready for that yet. For... attempting to start dating again and meeting someone new." He sighs heavily again, raggedly, through his mouth, resting his forehead in his hands. Now he sounds defeated. Mentally exhausted and defeated. "I'm just not ready for it," he repeats again, his voice achingly sad. "And maybe I'll never be."

"You can't say that," I whisper. "You can't give up just because one night went wrong. Eventually you'll meet someone that... everything will go great with."

I feel completely out-of-my-depths, trying to comfort him. I mean, what could I possibly know? I have no experience or words of guidance that I could give him. I've never gone through what he has gone through, of course.

"I'm just..." He's rubbing around his forehead with his fingers. "I'm not so sure, Anastasia. I'm really not."

"What do they say?" I ask, trying to lighten his mood. "Sometimes 3 times the charm? Maybe the next time, on the 3rd date, it'll be better?"

"Doubtful. Extremely doubtful."

It's probably risky of me, but I reach over, patting his arm. I rub up and down the material of his woolen sweater; it so tight it clings to his skin. I can feel his muscles beneath my fingers, his biceps and the curve of his broad shoulder as I run my hand up, then down again, comforting him.

"It's funny though," he starts in a new tone, like he's just realized something, then stops.

"What? What's funny?"

"It's just funny how... you seem to be someone that I feel completely comfortable speaking to. I'd thought about that on the drive home."

I feel myself blushing at his words as an uncontrollable smile comes across my face. God, I can't help it. "What's funny about that?" I'm still rubbing my hand up and down his shoulder, to his forearm through his sweater, and back up again. If he felt uncomfortable about it, I'd stop within a second, no hesitation. Only he doesn't seem to mind it.

"It's just... ironic." He laughs again breathlessly, making my stomach spasm. "Tonight, with Gia, I felt a nervous wreck. I was... stumbling over my words, fretting everything I do or say. It's frankly the same with my daughter. I always fret, wondering whether what I'm doing is the right thing for her, the right... course of action. But with you..." His voice is a deep, thoughtful mumble. "With you, I feel utterly at ease. It's as if the only real... clarity I get is when I speak to you and when I'm around you. It's funny and ironic to feel that way when you're so... young."

"What does me being young have anything to do with it?" I ask, my own voice weirdly breathy, husky. "It's good, isn't it? Sometimes it's good when 2 people feel comfortable around each other, that they can talk easily. Being young or old shouldn't matter at all." He brings his head out of his hands, turning to face me.

I can see his eyes shining at me through the flickering light of images on the TV screen. I'm still rubbing him consolingly, still drawing a pattern up and down over his sleeve. I wonder what would happen if I went higher, if I dared to touch where his shirt ended, where his neck and throat began. I wonder what his skin would feel like. Would it feel coarser, rougher because of the stubble he's grown? Would his skin feel warmer?

That urge to kiss him comes again. An ache builds within me, that desperate one.

I've felt like this so many times, often when we're alone or he's close. I'll get the urge and need to kiss him, or... do something to show how I feel about him, because obviously he can't see it himself.

Maybe I need to do something extra daring to make him know how badly I want him? That, when we spoke in the car last week about me liking someone, how I was referring to him all along? That it's always been him ever since I first came to the house and met him when Kate brought me here to her house and introduced us?

His eyes remain glistening at me in the TV light. And then, I do it. Maybe not what I fully want to do, but I try something, anything, just to see what happens. Something safer.

My fingertips reaching the top of his shoulder, I go higher, carefully, delicately, placing my hand on his face, feeling the warmth of his cheek and around his jaw, the slight roughness to the stubble on his chin. I hear the loud, uneven inhale he breathes in due to my touch, and I think I see him close his eyes. The TV no longer reflects in them. I could kiss him right now. I don't even think I'm even breathing properly right now. I could finally do it, and be brave, and then he'd know for real now, and it would depend on him whether he would respond or not.

I lean in closer, my eyes on nothing else but the outline of his closed eyes in the dark, anticipation running through me, exhilaration, but then-

Kate. Imagine having to explain it to Kate, how upset she'd probably be. Her best friend making moves on her fragile dad.

But then losing my nerve, I bring my hand away, wrapping it tightly over my mug again, my fingertips still left with the warm imprint of his cheek.

"What have you got there?" he speaks after a while, his voice sounding different. Out of breath, yet detached.

"My tea," I whisper quietly.

"Good idea. I think I may go make a coffee myself."

I stare down at the shining liquid in my mug as he moves past me to get into the kitchen. Then I close my eyes, inhaling in deeply, my breath shaky and slow.

I almost did it, at least. Almost, but not quite.

I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS. AS FOR THE GUEST REVIEWER WHO SAID THE STORY IS GROSS AND THAT CHRISTIAN IS A PEDOPHILE, YOU REALLY DO NOT HAVE TO READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO.

I AM NOT FORCING ANYONE TO READ THIS, PLEASE GO FIND ANOTHER STORY MORE SUITED TO YOUR TASTES IF YOU NEED TO. I'M SORRY IF I OFFEND ANYONE BY THE CONTENT, I AM TRYING TO WRITE THIS AS SENSITIVELY AND REALISTICALLY AS POSSIBLE AS I KNOW IT IS A SENSITIVE SUBJECT TO SOME PEOPLE.

I DIDN'T INTEND TO MAKE CHRISTIAN SEEM AS A PEDOPHILE, FAR FROM IT. I WANT TO WRITE A STORY WHERE A MAN AND YOUNG WOMAN, WHO SO HAPPEN TO HAVE AN AGE DIFFERENCE, CONNECT AND HAVE A MEANINGFUL LOVE CONNECTION. IT'S NOT ABOUT SEX THAT COMES ON SUDDENLY, THOUGH SEX WILL HAPPEN EVENTUALLY AND NOT TOO FAR AWAY.

THAT'S WHY I WANT IT TO BE SLOW BUILDING, FRUSTRATING AS THAT MAY BE TO SOME READERS (I AM SORRY IF ITS TOO SLOW AND GETTING FRUSTRATED WITH ITS PACING!)

SO AGAIN, I'M SORRY IF THE STORY OFFENDS OR DISGUSTS SOME PEOPLE. I AM TRYING TO WRITE IT AS DELICATELY AS POSSIBLE AS, I KNOW FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE, THESE COMPLICATED THINGS DO HAPPEN WHERE A YOUNG GIRL FINDS HERSELF LIKING AN OLDER MAN AND A CONNECTION AND RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPS. THANKS FOR READING!


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

That night, after making myself a cup of coffee and saying goodnight to Anastasia, I find myself unable to sleep. It's unusual for me.

Usually, the instance I climb into my too-big bed, spreading my legs out beneath the cool sheets, I fall asleep just like that. But tonight, something's different. My brain refuses to switch off. I keep thinking about things that happened tonight, and things that happened several weeks before, ruminating everything, turning it inside my head over and over.

Gia tonight and how she acted. Her DILF comment. Coming home to find Anastasia awake, her asking me about how my date went. Laughing with her about it, somehow making me feel better and not as ashamed by how disastrous the night went.

I don't know how long I lay awake for, staring up at the dark ceiling. It feels like hours. Then, defeated, I twist up in the sheets, checking the time on my alarm clock. 3 am in the morning, and sleep apparently wants to evade me.

Shifting back down beneath the sheets, resting my head against the pillow, I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. The darkness beneath my eyelids, that soon disperses into vivid memories of tonight. Anastasia touching my cheek, how her skin felt soft and smooth over my cheek. I can't remember the last time a woman has touched me, certainly not like that.

The way she rubbed my arm through my sweater. How reassuring it felt, how nice.

And then I feel that dreaded feeling again, the one I felt on The Grace. An uncontrollable reaction. I suddenly feel too warm in the sheets, too sweaty. My hands feel too clammy, the boxers that I'm wearing too tight and restrictive.

I sit up again, this time throwing the sheets off my warm body as I swing my legs off the side of the bed. Sweaty, stiff down there, too hot. I feel utterly stupid when I reach down with a hand to readjust my balls in my boxers, only to find the reason for that stiff sensation down there. I'm hard again, just like I had been on The Grace due to the way her backside brushed against me, unintentionally causing a perfect amount of friction.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?

Erection number 2, all thanks to her. You'd think I was a young boy again, a hormonal boy in my early teens, fantasizing and getting hard thinking about the opposite sex. It's fucking embarrassing.

I'd tried to push it at the back of my mind, refusing to acknowledge it out of some sense of feeling disgusted or dirty. To even let myself acknowledge it, to accept it despite how inappropriate it is... But I can't deny it anymore, not when the uncomfortable physical reactions I've suffered the past 2 weeks makes it impossible to dismiss.

Maybe I can refuse to acknowledge it in my mind or downright refuse to so much as even entertain the thought, yet there's no fooling the body from the difficult and horrible truth? My body knows it, even if I refuse to let my mind know it.

I'm attracted to her. Sexually, physically. Emotionally. All of that.

I suppose, the more willing I am to let myself accept it, the better it will be to learn to move past it. Nothing can come of it, and I know that, aside from a lot of trouble, a lot of complications with my daughter.

* * *

I feel like I haven't even slept a single hour when I wake to my alarm going off at 8.00 am in the morning.

Getting out of bed, I begin my same old early Sunday morning routine. I get changed into my work out clothes; A black hooded jacket, and black track pants. I stretch out each of my legs while sitting on the edge of my bed, tying up my shoelaces.

The good thing about heading out early in the morning to exercise is that the house is quiet and no one is awake. My daughters asleep and, hopefully, Anastasia's asleep as well.

I climb downstairs, being as quiet as humanly possible. Then I grab an unopened bottle of water out of the fridge, grab the house keys, lock the house up, and then I'm off.

There's a little dirt track behind the house that I love to run of a Sunday morning. I leave the water bottle near the fence and stretch my arms, doing my squats to prepare myself. Then I officially head off, running through the muddy track.

Running, I find, is such a mood-booster. I guess it's true what they say, about "runners high" and endorphin and all that shit. I only truly feel good about myself after a long morning run.

This cold of a morning, my legs start humming, my breaths coming out misty and foggy as I breathe heavily. I duck to miss some branches dangling above the track, not slowing down.

Panting heavily, perspiring beneath my jacket, the words on her text message filter in my brain, basically out of nowhere.

 _Just be yourself, because the real you, it's amazing. Trust me._

I shake my head, trying to focus on nothing else but using my legs, pushing them as hard and fast as they can possibly go without pulling a joint.

 _"Sometimes it's good when 2 people feel comfortable around each other, that they can talk easily. Being young or old shouldn't matter at all."_

 _"Sometimes 3 times the charm? Maybe the next time, on the 3rd date, it'll be better?"_

I summon all my strength to focus on nothing else but what's in front of me, but I can't. She's there, inside my head. That voice of hers.

 _"I bet she'll think you look really handsome..."_

 _"Because she hurt you, Christian! I'm sorry because she's my best friend's mom and it's bad of me but... anyone who hurts another person or causes them such pain, I can't help but not like them!"_

 _"Your dismissive of compliments and praises towards you, and you put yourself down. Like how you say you don't understand why I wanted to text you in the first place, that you're old or boring when... you're anything but."_

We have developed a good friendship, where I enjoy speaking to her. Clearly, Anastasia enjoys speaking with me also and providing me a certain sense of encouragement. Perhaps because I'm older, she sees me as a good role model, someone she herself can confide in?

I'm shaking everywhere, my limbs are shaking as I push myself. I'm not even completely aware of where I'm going, what's ahead of me. There's just... her and what she's told me. Even one night, a while ago. How she'd followed me into the kitchen.

 _"You're handsome. Funny. Charming. Not to mention, you're a great father to Kate and a very successful person in life."_

I quicken my pace, I have never really run this fast. I'm heaving for breath, giving my lungs an excellent work out. I feel sweat gather and form around my forehead, my mouth going dry, tongue sticking to the top of my throat.

 _"And you're not even 40 yet, like you said? You've accomplished so much at your age! Your ex, she really loses out..."_

Touching my face with the palm of her hand. Comforting me over my horrendous date, rubbing her hand up and down my arm. Her ever constant smiles whenever she is around me. Liking Frank Sinatra immediately all because I introduced it to her.

Texting me words of encouragement, complimenting me. She thinks I'm great, I'm not boring to her, I've accomplished so much. In her eyes, I'm 'handsome' and 'charming'.

It's almost as if she has a... _crush_ on me?

I guess there is a good reason why people say not to push yourself so hard, particularly when you've got an empty stomach and you already feel sort of... shitty with yourself. This long way up the path, it turns into a sort of muddy, loose rocky area, and the soles of my shoes fail to get a good grip as I try to stop.

I can only be thankful no one can see me when I trip over, skidding knee-first on the ground, my ribs painful as I pant desperately, throat sore.

"Fuck," I grumble to myself, lifting up my knees after catching myself with both hands. Since I've landed on my knees, its taken the brunt of the impact. Rocks have shredded through my track pants, and my knees are bloody and stinging. Fucking great.

A crush on me? Could that be why she's always there, with her ever-present smiles around me and her compliments?

It feels flattering yet amusing to think of it, the idea of someone like her having a crush on me. Surely not. She seems wiser, older than her years; so curious and inquisitive and kind and supportive. What good reason could anyone her age possibly have for having some sort of crush on me?

As I get to my feet, reluctantly dusting off small rocks and dirt from my bleeding knees, it occurs to me that maybe I'm not being so ridiculous after all. I know what happens when a young person develops a crush on someone; I've been that age once myself, of course, and all the signs are certainly there.

I can remember with excruciating detail the moment I met my bitch ex in high school and how I wouldn't waste any moment to be near her. I'd take advantage of her closeness by touching her in all the ways I could; Brushing my hands against hers when passing her something, accidentally bumping into her just to see what her reaction would be, and also, how it would feel. I'd always be asking her questions while, sneakily, admiring her physique.

Young boys can't be that different from young women when it comes to having a crush on someone, could they?

When I was 9, my mother Grace insisted I see a therapist. The 1st one I ever had, was an older woman, about in her middle 30's or so. I had the biggest crush on her, though I don't think she ever knew. She had a photograph on her desk in a nice frame of her with her husband, and I remember I'd felt something resembling jealousy over it.

Naturally, of course, nothing happened. My crush fizzled out after it ran its course.

No doubt, that is what would happen with Anastasia, if she is even having a crush on me.

Being a senior in high school, she might say she has no interest in the boys at her school now. But once she graduates, and begins college, I have no doubt whatsoever that it will be different. She'll meet some young man, smart and thoughtful like she is, and they'll start dating. Her crush will fizzle out and run its course.

Only issue is, that... perhaps I have quite the attraction on her herself.

Dusting off my hands, I start running back the way I came, ignoring the pain in my knees.

But I'm the adult here mainly. And overstepping any lines, crossing them... I know the type of man that I aspire to be. I know I wouldn't do anything, particularly not to jeopardize my relationship with my daughter and her relationship with her close friend.

If I can just get my shit under control. I accept now that, all the erections, the happiness and flattery when speaking to her, it may very well be that it's because I find her attractive emotionally, physically. Intellectually. But accepting and acknowledging is far different from acting on that attraction that I feel.

When I was 9, with the crush on the female therapist, it fizzled out once our sessions had concluded and I accepted the hard truth that she was married. If there was just someway I could get Anastasia to no longer come here on the weekends as much, if there was some way I could put some distance between us and stop indulging in trying to maintain a weird sort of friendship between us.

Space and distance away from her would be beneficial. Horrible and scary as it is to admit it to myself, I'm just not so sure that I can trust myself around her anymore.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

"Ready to see Katherine Grey's wonderful cooking skills at work?"

Kate and I are in her huge kitchen, getting breakfast prepared, both of us still in our pajamas. Only this time, it's Kate that cooks. And by cooking, I mean, by toasting. She pulls out 4 slices of brown toast from the toaster while I watch her at the breakfast table, pretending to be overly amused and interested.

She plops 2 pieces down on each plate, grabbing the butter and peanut butter containers and a knife. "And now, we spread the butter and the peanut butter," she says, imitating a chef from a cooking show.

"Very impressive," I mutter playfully as she smothers a large blob of peanut butter onto the toast.

"I know, right?" Kate says proudly, her green eyes flashing with humor. "Well, that's what I think anyway." We end up bursting out laughing, and then we hear the front door open.

Automatically, I sit up in the stool as Kate hands me my plate, my heart racing.

"That must be dad back from his run," Kate says, putting her plate on the counter next to mine near the empty stool where she's going to sit. "I might just go ask him if he wants me to make him some toast. Be right back."

"Okay."

I don't turn to watch her leave the room. I nibble a corner off my toast, peanut butter getting stuck to my mouth. Then I hear Kate and Christian's voice.

"Hey, dad. I made some toast. You want me to-" Kate falls silent, and I think I hear her gasp. "What happened to you? Want me to get some band aids or something?"

"Katherine, I'm fine. I just fell over." His voice does that thing to my body like always, making me shudder. Only he sounds a bit less spine-tingly this morning, and a bit more tense and frustrated instead. "Is Anastasia still here with you?"

My ears perk up at the sound of my name.

"Um, yeah? Why? She's in the kitchen eating her toast?"

"Well, once you're both done, I'd appreciate it if you could drop her home." I drop my toast, my appetite immediately evaporating at his quiet and stern words. He wants Kate to drop me home early? Why? What's happened?

"What? Why? Ana usually stays here until the afternoon?"

"Well, no more," Christian says, gentle exasperation in his voice. "Her mother must get concerned that she's always staying here every weekend for 2 nights."

"But her Mom doesn't care! Her Mom always says its okay for her to stay over so I don't see what the problem is-"

"- The problem is that she stays here almost every single weekend. I think it would be healthy if you both had some time apart-"

"Ana's the best and only friend that I have, dad! And now you want us to be apart?"

"Enough," he hisses, his voice dangerously low and serious. "You'll take her home once you've both finished your breakfast." Christian usually never goes mad at Kate like this. I haven't heard him be this way before. "I don't want to hear anymore of it from you. I'm your father, and what I say stands. Do you hear me?" His tone is almost threatening.

"Fine," I hear Kate give in glumly. "After we've finished our breakfast and have gotten changed, I'll take her straight home."

It hurts, a wide hollow, panicked hole in my chest. A sting of rejection. I have no idea what I've done wrong. But as I hear Kate's dragging footsteps, I pretend as though I haven't heard, keeping my eyes low as I pull apart my soggy toast that she's made for me with my fingers. I glance over at her as she slips on the stool next to me. Her eyes are wet with frustrated tears and she makes a sad face at me.

"Um, so Dad said I have to drop you off home after breakfast," she mutters bitterly, picking at her own toast. "I'm not sure why. He's acting really weird. And he fell over on his run, so his track pants are torn at the knees and he's bleeding."

"Oh. Is he ok?"

"I don't know," she whispers, yanking up the sleeve on the baggy pajama top she's wearing. I see her dab at the corner of her left eye quickly. "Usually he's not like this. Maybe he had a bad morning or something?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

Just as Kate promised her father, after getting changed and brushing our teeth, we get into her car. She pulls out of the driveway, looking a bit distracted and upset still. That hurts still there, that rejection. Usually on the Sunday's, I stay until after 2.00 in the afternoon. I wonder what's wrong with Christian or if he's somehow mad at me. Did I do something wrong last night? I can't even remember what I did that would even be considered wrong in his eyes or give him justification to be pissed off with me.

Kate presses a button on her radio and the interior in her fancy car fills out to the music of Katy Perry. 'I Kissed A Girl' plays. "Is your Mom going to be ok if you get dropped off early?" Kate asks me, glancing my way quickly, her eyebrows raised.

"I think so."

"Sorry about my dad," she sighs, shaking her head in annoyance. "I don't know what's up with him sometimes. Maybe it's that date he had last night or something? I really don't get him sometimes."

"It's ok," I assure her. "I understand." I try to steer our conversation onto something less painful. "You still text messaging Paul?"

Kate looks at me and melts. Like actually melts in the seat, smiling. I can't help laughing at her expression; I have never seen her look that way before. "We are," she admits.

"He asked you out yet?"

"Not exactly, but... I'm confident he will. Give it a few more days."

Once she pulls over at my house, I glance up the driveway nervously. My mom's car is the only one parked there. I sigh in relief.

"You sure you'll be ok?" Kate asks me worriedly.

"I promise. Everything's fine." I lean over to hug her while grabbing my bag off the floor. "See you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

I stand in my driveway, waving to Kate as I watch her pull back out onto the road. When I unlock the door and get inside, it's quiet. My Mom usually takes advantage of me being at the Grey's on the weekend by having parties here at the house. Or sometimes she'll invite a new man over. My Mom Carla has had so many dates with different men these past 15 years that it's so difficult to keep up.

Shoving the strap of my bag onto my shoulder, I walk towards the kitchen, peering around to find her. I find my Mom at the kitchen table, on her laptop, a glass of red wine next to her keyboard. My Mom always drinks wine, and she's a big drinker. It's rare to see her without a glass or bottle in her hands.

She's also a receptionist at a big-name company, which surprises me considering the amount she drinks and how hungover she often is the next morning. Apparently her drinking doesn't effect her employment.

"Ana, is that you?" she asks distractedly without looking up from her laptop screen.

"Hi, yeah it's me, Mom."

She glances down at her watch quickly. "You're home incredibly early? What happened?" She starts typing again, her fingers flying fast over the keyboard. "Did the Grey's have to go out to a family event or something?"

"No, Mom. I just... I decided to come home early, that's all." I stand there, staring at her as she continues to type. Then she pauses, her fingers sliding around the stem of her wine glass. She swallows down a few mouthfuls of the wine, then she starts writing again, not even once looking at me.

 _Look at me,_ I feel like screaming then, my eyes welling with frustrated tears. _Hello, I'm your daughter. I'm standing right here!_

Giving up on attempting more talk as she's obviously preoccupied, I turn, moving towards my bedroom. The instance I close the door softly in my room and I'm safe, I break down, the tears spilling out. I drop my bag, leaning back against the back of the door, covering my hands over my face.

I don't even know why I am letting it affect me so much; My Mom is always like this, always preoccupied chatting on her laptop or doing whatever knows what it is that she does. I've learned long ago that crying about my mother and her absent and distant behavior towards me solves nothing, but I can't stop it right now. It must be a combination of everything; Christian sending me home early, his aloofness for some reason as if he's mad at me, as well as my Mom's typical behavior.

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR LOVELY SUPPORT, IT MEANS A LOT.

AS SOME OF YOU HAVE BEEN LOVELY TO POINT OUT, CHRISTIAN SHOULD BE 36, NOT 38. I APOLOGIZE AND AM EMBARRASSED FOR THE ERROR, I WRITE LATE AT NIGHT WHEN I GET HOME THOUGH THAT IS NO MISTAKE FOR GETTING IT WRONG. I'M NOT SURE HOW TO EDIT CHAPTERS BUT FROM NOW ON, PLEASE JUST DISMISS THE 38 AGE COMMENTS, AND INSTEAD HE'S 36. SO SORRY! THERE WILL ALSO BE A TIME JUMP NEXT CHAPTER, WITH ANA AND KATE GRADUATING, ETC. LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS, HOPE IT WASN'T A DISAPPOINTMENT.

ALSO, A QUESTION ABOUT SCHOOLS, I AM NOT AMERICAN BUT IS THERE A GRADUATION CEREMONY FOR SENIORS WHEN THEY FINISH HIGH SCHOOL AT 18? THEN DO STUDENTS APPLY FOR COLLEGE AFTER HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE? SORRY I GET CONFUSED AT TIMES WITH HOW SCHOOLING WORKS IN THE US. AGE OF CONSENT WHERE I LIVE IS 16 YEARS BUT OBVIOUSLY DIFFERENT IN OTHER PARTS OF THE WORLD. THANKS!


	12. Chapter 12

SORRY I'VE TAKEN SO LONG TO WRITE THIS. I AM VERY NERVOUS ABOUT THIS ONE. HOPE IT ISN'T BAD AND THAT IT SATISFIES YOU, WHAT FINALLY HAPPENS?

CHAPTER 12

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

TWO WEEKS LATER

Whenever, on the rare occasion that my daughter goes to her mothers for the weekend, I like to listen to some old music, a little Frank Sinatra here, a little of The Rolling Stones there. And also, mostly, since it's safe to and my daughter is nowhere in the house to feel embarrassed of me, I like to get a little drunk. Sometimes even indulge in a little orchestral music and the classic piano symphonies I enjoy listening to so much -Beethoven, Liberace- while catching up on work in my study.

I have a hidden stash of hard liquor above the refrigerator, out of sight where my daughter usually cannot reach it. Pure large gin and vodka bottles are hidden right up near the wall, where Katherine can never see them.

I haven't eaten any dinner yet, but tonight, I decide not to. Seeing as I'm alone, I decide I'm allowed to get completely and utterly shit-faced tonight. I haven't done this in months, so I decide I deserve a little fun and to be reckless for once. I'm sure the bitch ex has drank enough holidaying for the both of us with her new asshole.

Grabbing both bottles, I set them on the counter. Then I grab a glass and pour myself a generous few nips of vodka. I tip it into my mouth, straight, cringing at the aftertaste. The bitterness stings deep in my gut, making my throat ache with warmth.

Pouring myself a glass of gin, this time I take it slower, sipping small mouthfuls while pacing into the living room.

I find one of my CD's, only just remembering Anastasia still has some of my good ones of Frank Sinatra that I let her borrow. It doesn't matter, though. I have enough Frank albums as it is. I open one up, pushing it into the player, pressing play.

Then I turn up stereo system a decent amount, mouthing along to the words as I down the rest of the gin in four mouthfuls. I'm definitely giving my liver a workout. I haven't been this reckless since my college days and I drank an entire jug of beer all by myself.

The doorbell rings just as I'm wandering back into the kitchen to fix myself another drink.

I almost don't answer out of stubbornness. If this is the bitch ex dropping our daughter back onto the doorstep because she's decided not to take her for the weekend and let me have a little piece and alone time, I will be furious.

But then it rings again, hesitantly and quickly, a second later. I can't just leave whoever it is out on the doorstep in the cold. If it isn't urgent, they wouldn't have rang twice. They would have given up on the first go.

Slamming my glass down on the counter, I head towards the door briskly. I open the front door, and see her. I've just opened the door, at the right time, because she's started walking away, assuming since no one had answered that there isn't anyone home.

I know who it is the instance I see her back facing me. It's that bag. Always familiar, always the one she brings along with her when staying over; The strap around one shoulder, the bag hanging and swaying around her hip. I know that body shape, that stark-white, long sleeved woolen cardigan that hangs just around her backside. I know those slender, slim legs, accentuated in tight black leggings. Not due to studying her body out of some sick perverted leering, of course, but simply due to familiarity.

Above all, I know that wavy, dark hair that falls just inches below where her shoulder blades begin.

Anastasia. I haven't seen her in over 2 weeks.

To say the least, last weekend was extremely quiet and my daughter was restless without her. Admittedly, I felt the same and, dare I even admit it, I had missed her myself. Even I had missed Anastasia's welcoming, positive presence in the house.

"Anastasia?" I call in confusion, leaning back against the door.

She stops at the sound of her name, turning back around to look at me. In the darkness outside the front of the house, with just the harsh automatic sensor lights illuminating her face, she looks younger. I don't know whether it's because I'm starting to get a little tipsy or not, but just with my shirt on, it's freezing when the air blows in at me. I think I even see her shivering in the lights. She appears vulnerable almost. A look I haven't seen on her before.

What is she doing here? Did she forget that my daughter is staying over at her mother's this weekend? Or did Kate not even remember to fill her in? It's confusing. Surely she would have known?

"Oh, Mr Grey." She bites down on her lip as she starts walking back towards me, both fingers tugging on the long sleeves covering each wrist. "Um, I wasn't sure what to do. I'm sort of... lost at the moment." Her eyes stare and shine at me in the light, then she looks towards the garage nervously. "Um, I know that Kate's staying at her Mom's this weekend, but I just... I don't know what else to do?"

"You don't know what else to do?" I have no idea what she means or what's going on, but she looks sincerely worried. Her fingers keep fidgeting with her sleeves and she looks rather... upset. I can see she's cold standing outside at this hour so, without thinking, I step aside, beckoning her in. "Come in and talk to me. You look freezing."

"Oh. Are you sure?" Her teeth bite down on her lip again briefly, as she peers past me through the front door, her face filled with indecision. "I don't want to, um, intrude?"

"You're not intruding," I assure her seriously. I reach out, taking her arm gently. Even through the fabric of her cardigan, I can feel her trembling. I rub her hand with the back of my hand, guiding her in. "Please."

She smiles at me gratefully, moving past me. She stops inside the hallway as I shut the door, Frank's voice filling the air between us as she glances back at me. Now that I can see her better, it looks like she's wearing red lipstick but I can't be certain. I don't think I've ever seen Anastasia wear lipstick. Perhaps I just haven't bothered to notice it.

"What's happened?" I ask gently, because I can see she's concerned. I may have issues with raising a young woman and knowing how to understand her, but I try my best, even with her best friend. "Is everything all right?"

"Not really." She breathes in deeply. "See, my Mom isn't home at the moment and she's gone away for the weekend, so I really... I don't know what to do."

"Your mother's gone away for the weekend?" I repeat in surprise. What kind of mother would leave her daughter alone, especially at her age, all weekend?

"Yeah, she, um... she likes to take advantage of the weekends when I'm staying here. She went off somewhere with this man that she's dating right now so I'm sort of stuck alone."

"Your stuck alone all weekend?"

"Yeah. And it's pretty... scary and lonely. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I... I caught a cab here. I forgot that Kate was going to be away."

She told me about her father dying when she was younger, so I don't bother asking if she has any other relative or someone close to her that she can stay with. But the fact that her mother just up and left her without some sort of parental supervision no matter how mature she seemed, it leaves me feeling irritated, her negligence towards her own daughter.

"So I'm sort of stuck at the moment," she continues in an unsteady, quiet voice. "I really don't have anywhere else to go right now or... um, anybody else I know so I... I thought it would be safest if I came here?"

"So you don't even know where your mother went?" I ask her. "This is something she usually does every weekend while you would stay here? She would go away?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Turning on her side, she gestures towards the front door, her face changing. All of a sudden, she doesn't look so much as worried anymore, as she does upset. It's as if something is bothering her; Something is niggling away at her. "Um, look. I can just go and leave if you want? I know I'm not your daughter, it isn't really your problem, and I-"

I'm stunned by her words. Where did that come from? Where did she get the impression that I was forcing her to leave right now? Am I truly that heartless to her? "Anastasia, I'm not saying that I want you to leave right now, sweetheart," I get out desperately, running my fingers through my hair, "That isn't why I'm asking all these questions. I'm simply just trying to-"

"-But I _heard_ you, Christian, don't you get that?" She mutters out loud over me abruptly with a laugh that sounds bitter.

"Heard me? Heard me with what?"

"You know, that... that Sunday morning a few weeks ago?" Her voice is shaking, her bottom lip jutting out a little as she glances down at her sleeves again, yanking on each of them with her fingers. "I heard you with Kate a couple of weeks ago but clearly you didn't expect me to?"

I stare at her blankly, blinking. I can see she's visibly upset about something, but I'm not entirely sure what. This reminds me, oddly enough, of arguments I have with Katherine; How she'll get so fired up, that expressing herself and attempting to vocalize her point is stressful on her. But I said something to my daughter, and she heard?

"You said to Kate to drop me home right away, like I'd done something wrong and that... that it might do us some good, it might be healthy if we had some time apart because I'm always here on the weekends?" She explains in an impatiently loud voice down at the floor and suddenly, I get it. Shit, she heard me. I hadn't meant for her to hear me.

And now that I realize that she had, that she's hurt and almost on the verge of tears because of overhearing me, I feel like a complete and utter, cruel asshole. It occurs to me how selfish I've been, thinking of myself and not how her and my daughter felt. I'd unintentionally been punishing the pair of them, pushing them apart, all because of me and my stupid fucking reactions and these weird feelings I've developed for this girl.

"It's the reason why I didn't come last weekend," she mutters, still down at the floor and at her hands. "I just... I don't know what I did wrong and I've been going crazy out of my mind all week trying to figure it out!"

"Anastasia, you didn't do anything wrong. I promise you."

"Then why?" she demands, and finally, she peers up at me. "Is it because I texted you that time even although I... I guess I probably shouldn't have?" She shakes her head, frowning in confusion.

"Of course not. It isn't about that at all," I assure her. "Honestly, I enjoyed it with you!"

"Then what? You don't want Kate and I being friends anymore?"

"Absolutely not, I would never-"

"- You don't like us being friends? You don't like me?"

"That isn't it at all, Anastasia." I sigh loudly, holding up both hands. How the fuck do I explain this? Obviously, I can't explain it. If I explained it, the terrible embarrassing truth, then... "I think you're a wonderful friend to my daughter. Honestly, I appreciate that she has someone there as loyal as you."

"Then what?" Her eyes are wet, blazing with anger. With hurt. I can see it's taking her everything not to shed tears. It's devastating. "Just tell me what I did here?"

If she cries, I have no fucking idea what I'll do. I hate it even when my daughter cries, I cannot stand it. Especially when I know it's all because of me and all my doing, that I'm the one responsible for it. Some might call it being soft-hearted or weak, but it's the truth.

 _But if I somehow was irresponsible for even one second, if I told her the truth..._

 _That I did it out of my own selfishness, that it was all for me._

I didn't suggest time apart because I thought Anastasia and my daughters close friendship was bordering on unhealthy. Time apart being healthy for them was a flat-out lie. The suggestion of time apart being healthy was solely for me, and for my own benefit alone.

So that I could sort my own shit out, so that I could attempt to stop whatever it was that I was starting to feel for her by putting some distance between us. Even if that meant unfairly separating my daughter from her best friend for a while.

Even if it meant hurting my daughters closest and only friend at school.

Truth is, I've begun not to trust myself around her anymore. To do what is probably the 'right' thing, in everyone else's eyes.

2 weeks away from her and all I've done is think about her constantly. The absence of her in the house on the weekends, her sunny presence- it was not just felt by my daughter, but by myself as well. She's become a constant fixture in my mind.

I should win the Worst Father of the Year Award. If anyone would win 1st prize right now, it would be me. And deservingly so. How have I made such a mess of this?

I try again, hoping my face looks as honest and heartfelt as possible. "Anastasia, like I just said... it wasn't anything you did at all. I just noticed that you and my daughter have been spending a lot of time together. Every day at school, at the house on weekends. I simply thought it might..." I hate to do it, because again, I'm lying through my teeth. But it's the only thing I feel I can say, the only safe excuse to come up with right now at the tip of my tongue. "Do the pair of you some good, to focus not only on school work and assignments that are coming up, but to also focus on your upcoming graduation and the lifestyle choices you both are bound to make."

"And we talk about that all the time, despite what you think," she says defensively. "We don't talk about foolish things all the time like boys that Kate might be attracted to at school or parties we'll eventually go to, or what new fashion or make up trends that are coming into style."

Of course they don't, and I already assumed as much. With a girl like Anastasia who seems so much more mature and wiser beyond her years, I expect their conversations to naturally have more depth than that.

"We've actually talked a lot about college," she continues, making her point, raising her chin higher in the air. "We've talked about what we hope to do once we graduate and we talk about filling in college applications together and how, eventually, we hope to rent an apartment together in the future..."

She's so upset she's trembling. I take a step towards her out of pity, and then she bursts into tears, just like I was fearing and dreading she would. Her face crumples miserably, her lips wobbling, then the tears spill out, cascading down her cheeks.

"Ssh, ssh. Don't start crying, Anastasia, please." My heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces as she quickly brings up her arms, wiping her moist cheeks hurriedly on the sleeves of her cardigan. She sniffs loudly, avoiding my eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you heard me say that to my daughter."

"I know you probably didn't mean for me to hear it, but... I did," she says, her voice just a soft whine. "And it really hurt, because... I've been trying to be nothing but supportive to you because I know all the hard things you've been going through and I'm trying to be a good friend to Kate, and I just... I don't know why you'd kick me out like I've done something so badly wrong!" I can't bear it, the sound of her voice, the look on her face. And it's all my fault, and I can't bear it for making her upset.

It is official. I am an asshole of epic proportions.

I have no idea what to do. If she were Katherine, I would have apologized and hugged her. Maybe even kiss her forehead and hold her until she stopped crying. But Anastasia is not my daughter and what I've been feeling for her, even now... they are not fatherly feelings in the slightest. So I do the only thing I assume is both right and safe to do, without making her feel uncomfortable.

Stepping closer, I grab the strap of her bag, sliding it off her shoulder. I dump it on the floor, then slip my arm around her back. I hold onto her for a second, letting Anastasia sob softly against my shirt while covering her face with the white sleeves of her cardigan out of embarrassment, then my mind is made up, despite how dangerous and downright uncomfortable it may be for me. I'm the adult here, and I have a responsibility. I can either be responsible or irresponsible and utterly reckless and act out on my attraction to her.

Of course, naturally due to the man I aspire to be, I immediately be the former of the 2.

"Come into the kitchen where it's warmer," I murmur gently. "Since your mother isn't home at your house for the weekend to supervise, you can stay here for the 2 nights like you normally do."

She has nowhere else to go, obviously. I have no other choice and to just send her out on her way while I've made her upset, well, fuck, that would be incredibly callous, even for me. Besides, a deeper part of me will be happy to know where she is after learning about her mother being absent and that she's safe. It's the best thing to do. It satisfies some protective fatherly old codger instinct in me.

Plus, it's just 2 fucking nights alone without my daughter here. How difficult can it be?

"Really?" She pulls her face out of her sleeves for 30 seconds to peer up at me hopefully, her eyes still wet with tears. The look almost breaks my heart all over again. Her cheeks are red and splotchy from crying, and up closer, holding her to me, I hadn't realized she has tiny freckles scattered around the bridge of her nose. "You wouldn't mind if I stay here for the weekend?"

"Well, I wouldn't dare leave you out on the street, would I?" I say quietly, rubbing her shoulder with my hand. "Of course, you can stay here for the 2 nights. However, I should warn you that it may get boring in my company and because Kate's not here to amuse you..."

She shakes her head, wiping around her face with her sleeves again quickly. "Thank you," she murmurs. "I'd really appreciate it."

Leading her into the kitchen, she pulls away from me, climbing up onto the stool at the breakfast table. She wraps one long arm around her stomach as if to comfort herself, the other, she holds in front of her mouth, still shielding her face, unnecessarily ashamed of her tears. Again, she looks so vulnerable and younger and endearing as she sits there, sniffling quietly. Seeing and managing to make Anastasia cry- it was something I hadn't ever wanted.

"Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head, her eyes darting around the room while she bites her lips. Then she notices my lone glass on the table, as well as the 2 large bottles of vodka and gin.

She raises her eyebrows at me, "Are you planning to drink both of them large bottles of alcohol in 1 night?" Finally, I know everything is starting to get back to normal again. Now, she sounds much better. Less upset and lighter with amusement, although her eyes are still shining with unshed tears and her face is still red and track-marked. Due to crying, her lips seem more larger and swollen. I find it irresistible.

"Of course not," I reply, trying to think of something to say to get her to smile. God knows, it's been lackluster without her smiles these past few weeks. I could definitely use a smile right now. "Unless you wish to see me fall into an alcohol induced coma?"

"Of course not." My heart feels lighter when she laughs shortly. Success.

I pour myself a much needed glass of vodka after seeing her emotional. Young women crying... it takes a lot of energy out of you. "You can sleep in Kate's bed, seeing as she's away," I tell her, then I swallow a mouthful down, wincing at the aftertaste. I peer over at her to find Anastasia staring at me in a strange way.

"Do you think I could maybe try some?" she asks uncertainly.

I stare at her for a moment thoughtfully, considering. I shouldn't really do it and it would be asking for trouble. I do not want to support underage drinking, of course, but even I cannot see the harm in just giving her permission to have one, small sip. I decide, why the hell not?

"Only _one_ sip," I allow, handing her the glass.

I watch her, feeling more amused than I probably should.

Anastasia holds my eyes as she lifts the glass to her lips, pursing her top one over the rim. I cannot contain my laughter at her reaction when she finally finds the nerve to tilt up the glass, inhaling in a particularly impressive mouthful. She cringes and moans in disgust as she swallows hastily, shoving the glass back into my hands forcefully. Her eyes narrow as she makes another comical expression of disgust, shaking her head furiously.

"That's without a doubt the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted in my entire life," she breathes out, then she brings her sleeves up to her mouth, coughing into them with a shudder. "Ugh. How can you drink that?"

"Usually people like to add other things to the alcohol," I explain to her. "Like cola, for instance. But if you intend to get truly drunk, and quickly, drinking it straight is the best way to go."

"So you're planning to get drunk as fast as possible?"

"Well, it was my original plan. Until you came along, of course."

"Well, please," she murmurs softly, her voice trembling with a restrained giggle. "Don't let me stop you."

Things fall silent after that for a weird moment, with Frank crooning in the background. I tilt my head back, downing gulps of the vodka. Then I pour myself another glass. I can tell it's already hitting me; That good, relaxed tipsy feeling. I can feel myself sweating beneath my armpits, the heat in my face.

"Hmm," Anastasia murmurs finally, and as I look at her, I see she's not looking at me. She's combing a hand through her hair, her slender fingers weaving through the lower strands. I think she's smiling to herself, blushing. "I think that would be interesting."

"What would be?" I ask, lost.

"Seeing you drunk," she explains quietly, her voice hoarse. She lifts her blue eyes up to me, and yes, she is definitely smiling now, I see. There is definitely something about her when she smiles. Even her eyes glitter, radiating warmth. I am fucked. "I mean, I've seen you upset before," she adds, and the heat in my face grows even worse at the memory. How she'd come downstairs, finding me emotional in the kitchen. It isn't a particularly fond moment for me. "But drunk. Like I said, that would be... interesting."

I swallow another sip of alcohol, eyeing her, "Interesting?"

"Yeah, because... you're just so..." She pauses thoughtfully, eyes still on mine, teeth sinking into her lower lip,"Self-restrained and... insecure, I guess. I think it would be interesting, seeing you lose all inhibition. I think it would be interesting to see you fully relaxed. Something tells me you aren't very often." At that, she presses her lips tightly together, suppressing a smile as she glances down at her thighs.

Perhaps its because I'm halfway there to getting drunk, but I feel mesmerized by her, enchanted by her. I cannot seem to take my eyes off her as she lifts her head while squeezing her eyes tightly shut, her head moving slightly.

"My song," she whispers with a full smile. Then she reopens her eyes, meeting mine.

I listen too carefully, realizing the track that's now playing is 'I've Got You Under My Skin'. "Actually, it's my song," I mutter, teasing her, feigning insult. "Since I'm older than you, I believe it's safe to say that this has been my song for far longer than it's been yours."

" _Ours_ then," she murmurs, correcting herself playfully. "It can be _our_ song then."

I didn't even realize how close I was standing near the stool where she sits, until she slides off, brushing up against me. I back away, trying to put an appropriate distance between us, but by then, it's far too late. My physical reactions are far too fucking slow and sloppy, likely due to the vodka and gin. I feel drowsy and too content to even move fast enough.

Anastasia reaches out, taking my hand, prying my fingers off the glass I'm holding. She sits it down on the breakfast counter, then she holds my hand tightly in hers. It's fucking disgraceful of me, how much I like the smallness of her hand compared to mine, the shortness in the length of her fingers compared to mine and how soft and dainty they seem to be.

"Dance with me?" she asks, very temptingly.

 _Girl after my own heart, willing to dance to the glory that is Frank..._

I study her as she steps in closer, the fingers of her left hand still clinging to mine, and before I know it, I am obeying her command.

She brings up her other hand and I feel it, aware of it more than anything else in the entire fucking world, as she slowly traces her fingertips lightly up my bare arm. I swallow against a hard lump forming at the back of my throat as I watch her slender fingers roam, tracing a pattern up the protruding blue veins on my wrist. Again, I'm not sure if it's the alcohol impairing my brain cognition but I feel dreadful spasms of warmth, of enjoyment at what she's doing to me. I haven't been touched like this in so long.

Curling her fingers over my arm, she continues up my forearm, clenching down into my skin, then releasing... clenching again, releasing, like a pleasant massage, until... she reaches up over the fabric of my shirt. My eyes drift to her face as I swallow against that irritating lump again when she reaches my bicep. Her fingers squeeze and feel around at the solid mass of muscle, her eyes glistening, breathing hard.

"Your arms are very muscular," she observes, her voice low, drowsy.

"Are they?" I sound just as drowsy.

"Yeah, they are," she murmurs, both her eyebrows lifting. She seems impressed, and it occurs to me that she is not the only 1 breathing loudly here. Frank Sinatra's music may as well not even be playing. All I can seem to hear is her breathing, and my disjointed breathing.

Why does it have to feel so good, the way she touches me? I can't understand it.

Somehow, I feel like she's praising me, as if she's commending the way I look after myself. Admittedly, I do try to look after myself. Jogging, golf, weight lifting, good diet, all of that. I have never had anyone Anastasia's age comment on it before. Frankly, I like it, the fact that she is.

Fuck, who am I kidding? Put everything she's said it me on 1 single scrap of a page, and it would be all compliments and flattering remarks. What is it that she wants from me?

"And you have a big mouth," I murmur beneath my breath, then feel like kicking myself. Jesus, she has a big mouth? What sort of thing is that to say to someone?

Anastasia's mouth drops open at my words, then she closes it, giving me a weird look. I think she's playing with me, she's amused, but I can't tell. "I've never been accused of having a big mouth before?" To my relief, she laughs. I still feel stupid though.

"It came out the wrong way," I say hastily, embarrassed. "Probably thanks to the alcohol. I meant it in a good way."

"How can it mean something good, you saying I have a 'big mouth'?"

"I meant a big, _beautiful_ mouth. With the lipstick you're wearing." I gesture awkwardly to my face, still kicking myself. "When you smile, I mean. You have a nice, beautiful big smile. It was meant as a compliment."

Finally, she brings up her hand, meeting the top of my shoulder.

Without hesitation, I reach down, gripping the side of her waist, her hipbone, my fingers spread apart. I know how to dance, of course I do. I like to think of myself as a good dancer. And as I instinctively take the lead, guiding us out of the kitchen with wide, bouncing steps, I notice Anastasia struggling to keep up.

She laughs softly as she stumbles back, her foot and one of her knees knocking against mine. I find myself unable to look at anything else but her face while she watches my feet move, trying to copy me, her brows furrowed in concentration.

It feels fucking amazing and I feel liberated. Teaching her how to dance, guiding her towards the living room while Sinatra plays.

Somehow, every single time I'm with her, like when I taught her how to steer The Grace, she makes me feel masculine again. I feel like a man again, an experienced, worldly man teaching a young woman and offering her guidance.

I feel young again.

I feel desirable when, getting into the knack of it, Anastasia finally lifts her chin, meeting my gaze.

Her eyes flash back at me as she laughs, every movement making the strands of her long hair blow back away from her shoulder. There's something alluring about her exposed long neck, her collarbone. I find myself wanting to kiss it, to trace every hollow of it with my mouth.

Yeah, as I can see, this time away from her being at the house has helped me completely. Getting rid of her for 1 weekend and yet, the minute she shows up here, dancing with me, just like that I'm infatuated with her all over again.

Shaking my head, I try to discipline myself in keeping my eyes on nothing else but hers as we move. A new song by Frank starts- The Way You Look Tonight, another favorite of mine- and I try to keep focused by chanting the lyrics to the song in my head instead of paying too much attention to how nice the lipstick suits her and how good her hand feels in mine.

"Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm, And your cheeks so soft," I speak under my breath along with Frank, hoping not to let my mind wander. "There is nothing for me but to love you, and the way you look tonight..." I notice her eyes drift to my mouth as I speak the words wordlessly, and I think I hear her laugh again.

"You know the words to this song?" she asks, impressed.

"I do. Honestly, I know most of the words to good old Frank's songs."

"Well, your a very good dancer."

"I've had years and years to practice, Anastasia. Once you get to be my age, you'll get your practice in as well. Trust me." I cringe at how elderly I sound, how stupid, but to my relief she just smiles. _Frank's right. Yes, she is lovely indeed, with her smile so warm and her cheeks no doubt soft..._

She starts a new conversation over the music, lifting her voice louder, "I didn't get to ask you before obviously, but... um, I guess I was wondering how it went after your date with that Gia woman a couple of weeks ago? I mean, I know you told me how bad it was, but... did you 2 ever go out again?" She sounds curious, yet there's a slight hopeful edge to her tone.

"No, we didn't end up taking it any further, Anastasia. We never contacted each other ever again.I suspect Gia felt it went just as terrible as I did."

"Oh. And so you haven't been on anymore dates since that?"

"No, absolutely not." I wonder if she notices how uncomfortable I sound. The date with Gia had been horrifying. Honestly, I think it's turned me off trying to get into the whole dating scene again. I think I'm content now with being a single father for the rest of my life, if it means avoiding anymore horrendous dates with women. "I think the dates scared me off forever. I still have nightmares even just thinking about it." It's an exaggeration, of course. I don't truly have nightmares, I just want to try make her laugh again. Yes, I'm selfish that way.

"Good then." I think I hear her mutter it through Frank's crooning. Have I mistaken her saying that? I observe her, very carefully, the way her face looks. Did she truly just say what I thought she said? Did she really just say it was 'good' or am I imagining the whole entire thing?

"What?" I try to mouth over the music, confused.

I twirl her around, try to change routine a bit. Second time I twirl her and she spins back around beneath my arm, I see she's smiling, a large, carefree beautiful smile. She meets my gaze with red cheeks as she laughs silently beneath the music, tilting her head to the side. She's enjoying this and perhaps, I am too surprisingly. I cannot remember the last time I've danced without making a fool of myself, yet here I am, causing this girl such joy. It makes my heart heat up.

And then I don't even know how it happens, but suddenly she's standing close, her face inches away from mine. She's muttering something beneath her breath at me, rambling nervously. Something about how she hasn't felt brave enough to do it but now that graduation is approaching she'll probably be gone soon and now she feels ready. If she doesn't do it now she'll regret it forever. Or something along those lines. It's impossible to hear her properly with the music. It's all so fast and my ears feel somehow blocked, probably due to the drinks.

She untangles her hand from my fingers, and then she lifts up, until her arm is resting on top of my shoulder. I think I feel her fingers play with the strands at the nape of my neck, and then she lifts up her other hand, touching my cheek and her fingers feel so fucking good on my cheek. She strokes around my jaw, playing with the coarse stubble on my cheek, and I'm not even sure how this is happening and how we even got here, right to this point.

My head is filled with so many different things, it's foggy. Confusing to set my brain straight. It's wrong, I should move away. Fucking child molester, my daughters friend. So smooth and gentle, her fingers. Haven't even been stroked on the face by a woman in months. Then her fingers glide beneath my chin, playing with the hairs there that I haven't gotten around to shaving off properly, and I feel both my heart and mind shut down.

"Do you find me attractive?" she asks clearly through Frank, her voice different. Nervous, desperate. She licks her bright lips, her tongue peeking through a little. "Because I, um... Christian, I think your amazing. I know you probably already know that, don't you? That I... I have this sort of, um... _crush_ on you?"

I feel like I'm turning into something else entirely, I'm not me anymore. A shifting change of gears, from man to animal. From the man I try to be, good, respectful, a decent father, to this... thing. This morally unacceptable thing.

Her fingers stroking the back of my neck, my chin... it's all too much. I bend down towards her, kissing her, very roughly. Pressing my lips against hers, holding them there tightly, waiting for her to react.

In some far away, distant fantasy in my mind, I expect her to immediately pull back, to rear back in disgust, shouting names at me. You sick fuck, what are you doing? Your my best friends dad, and yet, you kiss me, you fucking pervert? Get away from me, your disgusting.

I only feel her lips parting against mine, her breathing changing. She weaves her fingers through the hairs at the back of my head, clenching them into her fist, yanking at the strands. Her breasts and chest brush against my shirt, she's so close. Leaning against me, moving her warm hot mouth around mine.

The drinks I've consumed have evidently effected my mental alertness and my coordination. Just as she wished, all inhibitions, they've seemed to have disappeared. Vanished without a trace.

HOPE YOU LIKED AND THAT IT ISN'T TOO UNREALISTIC? TIME GAP BEGINS IN NEXT CHAPTER, WHERE ANA STARTS COLLEGE AFTER APPLICATIONS, ETC. SHE'S JUST DESPERATE TO AT LEAST LET HIM KNOW BY ACTION HOW SHE FEELS BEFORE GOING TO COLLEGE. THANKS FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH UNDERSTANDING THE SCHOOL SYSTEM, IT MEANS SO MUCH. AND ALSO, THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND SUPPORT, I GET DAUNTED BY NEGATIVE WORDS BUT THAT HAPPENS IN ALL THINGS I SUPPOSE. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 13

ANA POINT OF VIEW

And so, just like that, it happens.

One minute, Christian and I are mucking around, dancing to Frank's amazing tunes while he's sort of drunk. And then, next thing I know, we're taking it further, and we're kissing.

I'd be lying if I dared to say I hadn't fantasized about this moment, because I have, tons of times.

But even although I've fantasized about it, it doesn't stop me from being utterly unprepared. I'm caught unprepared, shocked that my fantasy has turned into a sudden reality within the space of a short second.

First, I'm lifting up with both hands, looping my arms around his neck, even playing with the silky short hairs on the back of the nape of his neck with my fingers, our faces close.

And then, he bends down and kisses me, pressing his lips firmly to mine.

You'd think with the amount of time I'd been infatuated and daydreaming about the man, that I'd know how to smoothly take charge and kiss him back.

It's uncountable; the amount of times I've stared at the man's mouth and lips whenever he eats something or drinks something; whenever he smiles or laughs while talking to me. And now, here we are, and he's actually kissing me, and I feel stunned, all thought leaving me for a second due to the shock of it.

I'm surprised how warm and rough his lips actually feel against mine. It's what really shocks me the most. For some reason, I hadn't expected them to feel quite like this against my own lips.

I don't even have the time to properly remind myself of how bad this probably is.

I mean, this is Kate's dad, my best friend's father, and we're kissing. I know I ought to move back, to feel guilty even, yet I don't even have the time to feel it. All I can seem to feel is how warm and tight his mouth is, the pressure of his lips against my own, and how fast my heart is beating in my chest.

Our lips part, then he pushes his tongue tentatively into the tip of mine. I taste him, all warm and wet. He tastes like that disgusting bottle of alcohol he's drinking, yet... all deliciously him as well. Vaguely, I'm aware I make a noise and I think I hear him make a noise through Frank's crooning as well; a deep, throaty sexy sound.

And then, all too soon, it's finished.

Reaching blindly behind me, he grabs hold onto both of my wrists, yanking my arms down away from his head, untangling himself from me. I don't even get to catch a glimpse of his expression because, the instant I reopen my eyes after him moving away from me, I see he's not facing me. Christian steps towards the wall, his back and shoulders the only thing I can see. He lifts up with both arms, resting all his weight on each knuckles of his hands against the wall as he stands there, his head hanging low. Throughout the music that still plays between us, I get the impression that he's hiding himself from me, he's ashamed.

The guilt I'm expecting to hit me finally does, crushing my heart, weighing it down heavily as I tongue around my lips, them still warm and moist from him kissing me. Oh, God. What have we just done? While a selfish part of me cannot help but be over the moon and happy that he's kissed me, that I've finally had a fantasy come true, it sinks in on how wrong it is, what we've done, to my best friend especially, to his daughter. And it's obvious he feels it, too.

I breathe heavily, desperately, watching the back of his shoulders as he stands there for a long moment, refusing to turn to look at me. He's so still, so rigid, holding himself up against the wall with his knuckles, his head still ducked low.

I think I can hear him panting loudly, trying to suck air desperately back into his lungs as Frank continues to sing from his CD.

All I can seem able to do is stand there stupidly, feeling helpless. It's obvious even though he isn't facing me or has his face to me, that he's taking what just happened badly. Maybe even more badly than I am.

I want to say something, to apologize, or to tell him at the very least that I really didn't mind it. Yet when I lick my lips again and open my mouth, trying to form meaningful words, I can't seem able to. A foolish croak just leaves me, a mere uncertain whimper.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Finally I hear him through Frank's voice as another song starts to play on the CD immediately, a new track I haven't heard before. His voice sounds frustrated and... something else as well. Something like shame, maybe? Embarrassment? "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he mutters a moment later, through what sounds like clenched teeth. I see the back of his head move as he shakes it several times. I can tell the alcohol is starting to effect him even more than it already has; He's started to sound slightly slurry. Usually he doesn't swear much, so I know it's bad. "Jesus... fuck."

I'm not sure whether Christian's speaking to me or not, but I suspect he's talking more to himself. He's beating himself up, and really, should he? He can't take all the blame. This is my fault too, after all.

I'd lied later on tonight, when I'd shown up at his place. I hadn't forgotten Kate wouldn't be home, that she'd gone to her mother's this weekend. It just makes my heart swell with miserable guilt even more. I'd come here on purpose tonight, hoping to catch Christian alone. I'd done it on purpose, using Kate being away to my advantage. I really do not need anyone worrying about me staying home on week nights or weekends by myself, even at my age. I can look after myself perfectly well and yet, I played on it and pretended otherwise, taking advantage of Christian's good hearted concern.

Does that make me a bad person? An even worse friend to Kate? Definitely, and I know it does.

"You cannot begin to imagine how sorry I am," Christian begins muttering, still hiding his face from me, into the wall. "I am so sorry. Ever since Katherine's mother, I..." He says more, but his voice drops so low that I can't hear him properly. He murmurs something about the alcohol and other things as well.

It's heartbreaking and the sudden extreme guilt I feel overpowers any momentary happiness that my fantasy has become a reality. I have never really seen a grown man like this before, sounding so helpless, so damaged and upset with guilt. It breaks my heart. I'd never thought it would effect him like this, if we ever even did something like this. I never once thought how he would have felt afterwards.

"Such a... terrible, _terrible_ person," I hear him whisper, anguished. "So... fucked up. I'm so..." He moves a hand away from the wall, covering over his face, "So... so sorry."

"Christian," I murmur softly. "Mr Grey, I... um..." I have no idea what to say. I mean, I know what I want to say, but it won't come out properly. It just won't seem to. I hate that he's reacting this way but, then again, what do I expect? "Please don't say your sorry. If anything, um, _I'm_ the one that's sorry. I didn't..."

" _Your_ sorry?"

Running his hand slowly through his hair, he finally seems to muster the courage to push away from the wall. He turns to look at me, meeting my gaze briefly before dropping his eyes back down to the floor.

" _Your_ sorry, Anastasia?" he repeats again softly, as if he cannot believe me and what I've just said. " _You_ dare to tell _me_ that _your_ sorry when _I'm_ the adult here and _I_ should have known better?"

His demeanor alone illustrates how weighed down with guilt he feels, how angry at himself over what we just did and how remorseful he is.

Rubbing the back of his hand over his face and around his eyes, he shakes his head again. And then, slowly, he sinks to the floor, kneeling with his knees splayed apart, leaning his back against the wall he'd been previously standing against for support. He peers down at his hands as he holds them out in front of him, playing with his long fingertips.

That time I'd caught him being emotional, crying in the kitchen is nothing compared to how he looks now. He looks so vulnerable, so disappointed with himself as he stares at nothing else but his fingertips and hands, his jaw set tight.

"I'm so sorry," he says again, a hoarse whine. "Words cannot explain just how... sorry I am. I've been in a particularly... fragile frame of mind lately. I'm not saying that to try to excuse what I just did, but..." He shakes his head, sighing heavily through his mouth, his brows furrowing.

"It wasn't just you," I point out, wanting and needing to take the blame as well. "It was me, too. And I... I meant what I said before it happened, Christian. Truly."

"You meant what?" He lifts his chin, meeting my gaze again, his gray eyes glistening with confusion.

"I wanted it to happen." A lump forms in my throat, a painful, guilty one. "When I... I said that I wanted to be brave, that I... I wanted to do it and be brave otherwise I'll regret it forever, I meant it. And I know that makes me selfish, especially because... I never thought it completely through about how you'd react to it, especially like how you are... now."

He doesn't say anything, not even when I fall to knees as well, leaning against the ground near him. I figure I may as well say it, even if he already has probably a faint idea of it himself.

"I know it sounds, um, crazy but... ever since I 1st came over here, I've had this sort of, um..." I feel my cheeks blister with heat as I glance down at my own hands, lacing them together in my lap. I've never done this before- bearing my heart to someone else, especially someone I like- but I figure I have to in order to make him feel better, no matter how embarrassing it is and scary. "I've had this huge crush on you, and it... it really hasn't gone away."

I blurt out a short laugh at my own idiocy, keeping my eyes low, refusing to look at him. It's easier if I cannot see his reaction. He probably thinks I'm so stupid, so childish, but I don't care. I feel he needs to know, even if... obviously it probably can't go anywhere.

"I haven't really felt this way about somebody before. I mean, I... I've never liked someone this much before." I swallow dryly, playing with my fingers. "It's weird because... I know your older, a lot older than me, and your, um... my best friend's father. I've honestly never been in a situation like this before. I know it's probably... stupid." I inhale in deeply through my nose, overcome with shaky feelings of fear, of vulnerability. I feel exposed, in a scary way that I haven't felt ever before. Yet it's liberating as well, getting it all off my chest. "You've probably noticed it yourself anyway, haven't you, just how I... um, react around you? I mean, I know you aren't blind?"

Bracing myself, I force myself to peer over at his face quickly, my cheeks gushing with heat again. Mr Grey, Christian, he stares at me, blinking slowly, listening carefully. Biting my lip apprehensively, I drag my eyes away quickly, peering back down at my hands.

I pick at a nail cuticle nervously, inhaling in deeply.

"I can see that you've been going through a tough time, what with your divorce and all and I... I liked how you would confide in me," I admit, my voice going lower, quieter. I don't think I've ever felt so nervous before; My stomach is literally in knots. "When I'd tell you that your amazing or when I'd... sort of try to support you into getting back into dating, I guess I... I did it as well because I really like you, and I do find you to be amazing and that any woman would be lucky to have you." I'm probably just rambling senselessly to him, but he hasn't told me to stop yet at least. I figure I may as well just get it all off my chest before I lose courage forever anyway. "And I'm not silly. I mean, I know that things could never happen between us, because... you know, I'm your daughters friend and your her father and... I imagine Kate would be so upset, but..." I shake my head. "Bad as it is, I still wanted it to happen with us kissing and that never stopped me wanting it."

"I wanted it too," he breathes, and I fell my heart stop as my eyes dart up to his face questioningly. What? Did he just say that he wanted it too? Or am I just imagining it because I just wish he'd say that to me?

I gaze at him, holding my breath, my heart pounding as he closes his eyes slowly, exhaling loudly through his nose. He keeps his eyes shut for a few minutes, nothing but Frank playing in the background, so many emotions on his face all at once. There's shame, embarrassment, nerves, I think. Guilt, too.

"I wanted it too, Anastasia," Christian finally breathes again, his eyes still shut, his voice tight. "I know it's... wrong of me, but... I wanted it too." He opens his eyes to focus them on me, hardly blinking. "Which... as you can imagine, puts me in an excruciatingly difficult situation here." He shakes his head once, gritting his teeth. "All I can really say is that I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize for-"

"- But I _do_ , Anastasia," he interrupts me firmly. " _I'm_ the adult here and I should have never let what happened tonight happen. I should have been more..." He pauses, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair as he thinks about a good word to describe it, " _Responsible_ and, for that, I'm sorry. I should know better than this."

He sighs loudly and shakes his head as he drops his gaze down at his fingers again, his jaw rigid.

"You know what you mentioned earlier tonight while upset?" he asks, hinting to before when I knocked on his door, how I'd admitted to overhearing him telling Kate that I should no longer stay on weekends because we were spending too much time together and needed healthy time apart in his eyes.

"Yes," I reply cautiously. "You don't want me coming around to the house as much, especially on... full weekends? You said that Kate and I spend too much time together?"

He shakes his head, lowering his eyes to his hands again, clenching and unclenching them. Why does he look so ashamed all of a sudden? "Yes, well, about that," he murmurs softly, "It wasn't entirely the truth or the real reason."

"It wasn't?" I'm confused.

"It was solely for me," he admits, glancing up at me briefly before glancing down again. "I thought it would somehow be..." He shakes his head again, conflicted, " _Easier_ if you weren't around as much, if I didn't have to... _see_ you as much."

"Easier?"

"The... the attraction," he explains, lifting a hand. He rakes his fingers slowly through his hair again. "I thought, selfishly... that if I could somehow get some time away, if you wouldn't come to the house as often then I could..." He trails off, shrugging. "Essentially stop all of this." He curses under his breath again. "Jesus Christ. If Katherine even began to even know about this, if she knew we were even having a conversation like this right now-"

"-She won't know," I assure him. "And I would never tell her, Christian." I would never purposefully endanger his relationship with his daughter like that. That isn't the type of person that I am.

"We have to be realistic about this, which is really... the only way we can be," Christian continues after a moment thoughtfully. He reaches up, rubbing around his chin with his fingers pensively. "To do anything else would only... complicate things. It would only make it messy, on everyone involved."

"I know that," I murmur.

"I think what we can only do is carry on the way we are. We can just... try to be 'friends', in a sense. At the end of the day, your my... daughters friend, and I'm your friends father. There are so many... ways that this could turn out terribly and really, I don't want to jeopardize anything." He meets my gaze, something there in his eyes. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I think I can." He's right and I know it would only be foolish to wish for anything else. "I know what your saying completely." Despite how guilty it was and how we both felt bad about it afterwards, the kiss was amazing and everything I'd hoped for. But of course, he's right. We can never do anything about this, no matter how much I wish we could.

"We have to be realistic about this. Sensible." I nod, biting down on my lip again. "And I have no doubts whatsoever that... eventually, when you start college or... whenever, you'll meet someone. A nice, young man who will completely knock you off your feet, and you'll forget all about this, and you won't... feel whatever it is that you think you feel for me anymore." Christian inhales through his mouth deeply. "One day, when we see each other again while you and Katherine are still friends and you're both a lot older, we'll secretly look back on this night and hopefully, think of it as something... humorous that happened instead of something awkward or... something to be embarrassed about."

"I guess so."

I cannot help but be relieved when Christian nods at me, a small smile turning the corners of his lips up. I'm not too sure about what he's saying, of course. Really, no one can ever tell what the future holds, I suppose. But right now, all I know is that I have never liked a man as much as I like Christian.

Right now, I cannot see myself possibly ever thinking of anyone else in the way I think of him. But who knows? I suppose time can only tell, and we'll see.

Satisfied by the outcome of our heart-to-heart, I suppose, Christian stands, getting to his feet. He seems a little unsteady as he walks over to the CD player; He switches it off, Frank's voice suddenly disappearing. Now the room is too quiet, filled with tension. I don't know if he'll ask me to go home now after what's happened, but I brace myself for it, sucking in my breath.

"You can stay the weekend still in Katherine's room," he murmurs after a moment, as if reading my thoughts. "Of course, I don't expect you to go home when your mother isn't there. I'd feel happier knowing that you are safe and looked after here."

"Thank you," I murmur appreciatively, getting to my feet myself.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

I think it's almost the hardest thing I've ever done, speaking about such things with Anastasia. Honestly, I never envisioned us having such a conversation together, but ultimately, I am glad that we did.

It's really the only right way to approach this. It's the only way I can see it going. And, I have no doubts in my mind whatsoever, that what she thinks she feels for me, it's a passing phase. Just like how I felt when I was younger, with the older therapist, it'll fizzle out and she'll get distracted by handsome young men at her school and once she starts college. Surely she won't have a thing for an old codger like me forever. I have faith in that.

I still cannot shake off that sense of guilt as I head into the kitchen, pouring myself a long glass of water. I really need to sober up.

What's more, sadly, I cannot shake off the warm imprint and taste of her lips as I lick my mouth before sipping at the water. I shake my head in admonishment, rubbing my bottom lip with my fingers, then I swallow another mouthful of water down. I cannot believe what just happened and how fucking careless I had been. I regret it, how inappropriate and out of line I was to let it happen yet, at the same time, there's no hiding the fact that I had enjoyed it while it had happened.

Kissing with Anastasia-

No, I shake my head again, shutting the door on that line of thought immediately. I cannot go there. For my own sanity, I just cannot let myself go there any longer.

"Well, I guess I'll, um, head into Kate's room." Anastasia's hesitant voice alerts me to her following me into the kitchen. I find myself unable to cope with looking at her, so I keep my eyes down, my back to her.

"Of course. Just sing out if you need anything. If you need any more pillows or blankets, just let me know."

"Okay. Thank you again."

I nod, listening carefully to her retreating footsteps.

I have no idea how this weekend is going to go down with her being here.

Us doing what we did, I try to think of it more as getting it out of my system, so to speak. I've acknowledged that I feel attracted to her, and yes, we shared a kiss briefly, but that's all it can be, it's all it can ever amount to. I've had a 'taste' of it, in a sense, and that's all it can ever be. Just tonight, a quick taste of kissing her, of letting it out of my system. And now, it's back to being responsible again, to carry on.

I cannot let it happen again.

Deciding to call it a night, I shut off all the lights and make sure the front door is locked. Then I start stepping up the stairs. On the top step to where my daughter's room is, I see that the door is still ajar and halfway open, the light on. Anastasia hasn't turned off the light yet to go to sleep, obviously. Out of concern for her- and nothing else, or so I tell myself- I start approaching the room while trying to be quiet about it.

I peek in quickly. I spot Anastasia pulling the covers down on my daughter's bed, her back facing me, backside arched in the air, her legs exposed in the small shorts she's wearing.

I know I shouldn't even be watching, particularly after our conversation downstairs, yet I feel inexplicably glued to the doorway for some reason. My ears are still buzzing, an aftereffect from the alcohol. I'm probably going to have a nasty hangover in the morning, something to look forward to.

Once she's finished yanking down the sheets halfway, she reaches down towards her feet, pulling and sliding off the pair of grey cotton socks she's wearing. Her bare feet look smooth and femininely small, her toenails painted black.

I see myself then, in a sort of out of body experience. Entering the room, coming up behind her. Her turning to look at me with those eyes of hers, wide and surprised. Pushing her down on the bed, moving over her.

My legs between hers, her thighs squeezing around my hips, her ankles digging into my backside. Having her. Fucking her real good.

The thought shakes me, and I back away slowly, cautious not to be found out.

I find myself questioning whether I should have actually agreed to letting her stay with me for the weekend, knowing we'll be alone.

SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO UPDATE, I'VE BEEN REALLY BUSY. HOPE THIS ONE ISN'T BAD, I PROMISE TO WRITE MORE VERY SOON NOW THAT I GOT TIME AS LIFE HAS SETTLED DOWN A BIT. :) I HOPE IT ISN'T TOO BORING AS SOME GUEST REVIEWERS HAVE EXPRESSED, THIS IS ULTIMATELY CHRISTIAN/ANA SO IT WILL HAPPEN, EVEN WITH DOUBTS.


	14. Chapter 14

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 14

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

I find myself unable to sleep tonight.

Reaching over across the mattress, I check my phone for the time while it's plugged in the charger. I sigh loudly. It's already 1.30 in the morning and still, I feel wide-awake, my thoughts going fast and constant like a freight train inside my head.

I think I know why. It's because of her, it's all her fault.

 _Anastasia._ I've never been more aware and attuned of another persons presence before. I've never been more aware that someone else other than my daughter is inside the house, someone else is inside the other room.

I run my fingers through my hair as I sit up slowly, propping myself up against the head board. I can't help wondering about her. Is she sleeping soundly right now? Or is she, by any miraculous chance, wide-awake like I am, with sleep evading her?

Is she comfortable enough in my daughter's bed? Is she warm enough? Does she need an extra few sets of pillows?

Remembering the events of earlier, the kiss, then our trying conversation, it's like a punch to my gut. It had been hard, incredibly difficult telling her that we had to be responsible, that we could not do anything about this attraction, her crush. I never knew something could be so fucking hard. But of course, it was the right thing to do, the fair thing. Or so I keep trying to tell myself. There's just... too much complications and things in the way. I had to be the adult, I had to control myself, make sure we behave like sensible human beings. Well, me particularly.

While I'd become aware, suspicious, that Anastasia had grown to have something of a crush on me, considering her reactions to me, how encouraging and supportive she was, it seems almost funny to know now that I was right, that she had basically confirmed it herself tonight. It feels odd to think someone like her can possibly have a crush on me, when she's so young, she's so intelligent and beautiful. She has her entire fucking life ahead of her and yet, astoundingly, by her own admission, she finds me to be amazing.

I suppose it is ironic, how life turns out. You can go from being so down in the dumps, perceiving yourself as pathetic, unworthy, a failure at women and relationships due to a divorce and yet, there's someone out there that surprisingly deems you literally the bee's knees.

It's tragic too, in a sense. I'd forgotten what it's like to actually talk to someone, to establish a somewhat enjoyable, innocent friendship with them. It's been a long time since I'd been close to a woman, even if that young woman so happens to be my daughter's friend. It's a shame because, what I feel in regards to Anastasia, I feel we have a rare, easy connection with each other.

I enjoy speaking with her immensely. I find her extremely beautiful. She's inquisitive and she feeds off my knowledge; My knowledge of music, like introducing her to Frank. To books. It's a rare thing, I believe, to find someone who you can feel like you can teach something to and bring something worthy to the table.

Sadly, for the sake of being sensible human beings, nothing just can be done.

My phone screen lights up with a buzz, startling me away from my thoughts. Now who could be texting me at this hour?

Reaching over, I grab my phone again, unlocking it. I stifle a surprised laugh to myself. Of all people, it's Anastasia. Apparently she's in the same predicament as I am, it would seem. I open the text, reading it out loud beneath my breath:

 _I can't sleep._

She's also sent a face that looks shy.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, relieved that at least I'm not the only one stuck wide-awake and feeling shit about it. I know I should be encouraging her, I should tell her to sleep, yet I can't help myself.

I write back:

 _You and I are in the same boat then. Are you warm enough? Need more pillows or blankets?_

I hit send before I have the time to consider how stupid it sounds. What am I, her fucking concerned parent? Her father? Considering the way I've grown to feel about her, I'm confident I am neither of those things.

She replied barely 30 seconds later. The girl is fast with her technology.

 _Is it weird if I ask to sleep in your bed with you?_

I feel my heart seize in my chest at her text. She's asking to sleep in my bed with me? Unexpected.

Another quick text:

 _I just can't get comfortable in the room by myself._

I hesitate, wondering on where to go from here. It would be wrong and it would completely erase my efforts in being a so-called sensible human being if I did agree to let her sleep in the bed with me. And yet, there's something in the way she wrote it that makes me feel it is a completely harmless, innocent request. I've been so uncertain on controlling myself around her, I think I've been managing quite well considering. What harm would it do, if it's just a matter of her feeling comfortable and safe enough to sleep well for the night?

I type back with a slow thumb: _Okay?_

Then I wait, clicking my phone off, darkening the room again. I'm wearing clothes- an old sloppy T-shirt and shorts, it isn't like it would be totally inappropriate. If I were naked, then of course, it would be another story entirely.

I lean my head back against the head board, listening carefully. Then I hear a floorboard creak outside the door and the sound of her tapping the wood gently.

"Come in," I call as loud as I can.

The door opens, and she doesn't shut it. I catch myself holding my breath as I hear her footsteps moving across the bed. I can tell she didn't put back on her socks; Her bare feet slap against the floorboards.

"Are you all right?" I ask with concern, sliding back with my feet to make room for her.

I feel her pull back the sheets, then slide in the covers. The mattress squeaks. I'm still holding my breath as I feel her move and get comfortable on the spare set of pillows next to me in the dark.

"Sorry, I, um, just... can't sleep right now," I hear her murmur in the dark, her voice softer, hesitant. "I hope this is okay?"

"Anastasia, it's fine," I assure her, turning in the dark to where the sound of her voice came from, blinking heavily. I can't see her at all, it's impossible.

But then she makes sure I feel her with what she does next.

Suddenly, the mattress lurches as she shoves her bare feet up against mine. Her heels are smooth against mine, but that isn't the reason why I'm unable to not exclaim out loud with an unnerved laugh. It's her feet. They're fucking freezing.

"Jesus, it's no wonder you're finding it hard to sleep. Your toes are absolutely freezing." Her soft laughter at that makes me smile and, growing more comfortable, I manage to slide down to rest my head against my pillow. I shove an arm behind my head, trying to keep still as humanly possible. Anastasia keeps her feet nestled up in between mine.

"What's your favorite smell?" Anastasia asks suddenly out of nowhere, startling me. What kind of question is that?

I struggle not to laugh, wondering where that came from. "That small sip of alcohol I gave you, has it affected you?" I ask, trying to make a good joke out of it.

"Um, no." I can tell she's smiling in the dark; Just a sense, an intuition I have. "At least I don't think it has. But seriously, I want to know."

"You want to know what my favorite smell is, Anastasia?" I laugh again shortly, even although I know now that she's obviously being deadly serious. I try to suppress anymore laughs or smiles as I think her question over. "Honestly, I don't know how to answer that, I don't believe I've even considered that before. Why? What's _your_ favorite smell?"

"Roses, I think. Roses and Chinese food, probably."

If anyone had told me I'd be doing this, having a person in the bed I used to share with my bitch of an ex wife after so long, I would laughed out loud and not believed them. It's humorous to think here I am now, with my daughter's friend in the bed beside me, not sleeping alone for once while she quizzes me with an outrageous question.

"Your bed's definitely a lot more comfortable than Kate's," Anastasia whispers after a moment. "And warmer, too."

"You should have told me so I could have put more blankets on the bed." It comes too late, that what-the-fuck are-you-doing feeling. I stare up at the ceiling as it comes to me, Anastasia's toes stroking against my shin. Her toes are feeling warmer at the very least.

"Do you find it hard being in the house alone when Kate's not here?" she asks.

"Sometimes," I admit with a sigh. "Occasionally, but... focusing on other things usually makes it more tolerable. Sometimes I like to be alone."

"Hmm." She's silent for a moment, and I'm silent as well, listening carefully in the dark. I think I can hear her breathing. "I forgot about your books," she mutters, as if only just remembering. "Your _Gatsby_ and _Revolutionary Road_ books that you lent me? I forgot to give them back now that I'm finished with them?"

"It's fine. You can keep them if you want?"

"Really? I can keep them?"

"They were just sitting around, gathering dust anyway. Kate's not interested in them."

"Thank you, that would be great. I really wouldn't mind reading them again, so that helps." Then she asks, "Do you think you'll ever remarry eventually?"

I swallow hard at the question, mashing my lips together in a tight line. The question, it's certainly... surprising. And unexpected. Then again, if there's certain things I've learned while talking to Anastasia, it's that she has a tendency to surprise me with her thoughtfulness. And often. '

"I'm not sure I can answer that,"I simply tell her.

"Oh, why not?"

"I just don't like thinking about it, to be perfectly honest."

"Does it make you uncomfortable? Sorry."

"No, it doesn't make me uncomfortable exactly." I shift over on my pillow, turning on my side. I think I can only just see her in the dark. I can only just make out the outline of her pale face on the pillow, her dark long hair around her. "I just honestly don't know how to answer that question." I try to think of how to explain it adequately to her without confusing her. "It's just... I've been through it once. I'm not so sure I ever want to go through it again." I lick my lips, thinking it over. "Once was enough for me and, considering how enormously it failed the 1st time around, I can't see myself willing to risk it again."

"Not even if it's with someone you feel is right for you?"

"Maybe not even then. I just don't want to risk it."

"I guess that makes sense."

To my relief, she doesn't ask anymore about it. Perhaps she senses my unease?

"And what about you?" I ask curiously, even although it seems rather silly, asking her. She's still young. What would she know? "Do you think you'll ever marry once you find a handsome young man that's capable of sweeping you up off your feet?"

"I haven't really thought about it, because... it seems so weird thinking about things like that." She laughs breathlessly in the dark. "I mean, who thinks that so far ahead into the future?"

"Well, have you worked out what you want to do yet?" I ask her, moving the topic along. "As far as after high school goes? I know Katherine is interested in attending University?"

I hear Anastasia inhale loudly at my question. "Yeah, I... I still don't know yet. But Kate and I have definitely talked about going to the same college and University together, if we can."

"Then that's good. You and Kate would do well trying to attend the same places together." I hope I don't come across of patronizing to her and yet, it's a hard habit to break when it comes to this subject, "Educations always important, as you no doubt already know..."

"Yeah, can I, um... ask you something?" The change in her tone captures my attention. Just like that, Anastasia sounds nervous.

"Of course. What is it?"

"I hope it isn't too much to ask or too personal but... what happened to your chest?" I feel my heart begin to race in apprehension at her words. Why does she have to want to know about this? "I've noticed the sort of... scars and was curious. Did you have some sort of accident or something?"

I've never exactly spoken to anyone about this before, not even my very own daughter. Katherine has never asked me about how I came to have the scars either, which honestly, is a relief. The bitch ex, I merely said some quick response to get her to never ask about it ever again. Even now, I am still not totally comfortable speaking about it.

"I had a... rough childhood, that's all," I simply say.

"Oh. What do you mean by 'Rough' exactly?"

Should I tell her? A part of me wants to shut her down completely, yet another part of me... feels tempted to be honest about it for once. Like I've noticed on a few occasions, Anastasia has this thing about her where you want to tell her everything, discomfort be damned.

"Well, I was... put in foster care at a young age. My father, I never knew him, but... my mother." I hesitate, breathing in deeply. "My mother had a lot of substance abuse issues. I know that, even while pregnant with me, she was addicted to drugs. The scars were from..." I decide not to tell her the entire gory details, mainly for my own peace of mind. I'd rather keep it simple instead. "I suffered... abuse, at a very young age. At around 4 or 5 years old. I an't exactly remember how old I had been at the time. It was so... long ago now."

I stop, waiting for Anastasia to say something. She's quiet in the dark for a disturbingly long moment, and I begin to fear that perhaps I've said too much?

"Oh," she finally replies, my heart easing off with the dread. "Then I'm sorry."

Sorry? Why would she be sorry? "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"Because it's... sad that you had to go through something like that. And I'm also sorry because..." she stops for a moment, her voice pensive, "I hate to think your life started like that. Well, that _anyone's_ life could start like that, really."

The mattress makes a noise below us, and then it occurs to me that Anastasia has rolled onto her side, facing me. She tucks her knees in slightly so that they brush against my thighs. I'd forgotten I had seen her wearing shorts when she'd gotten ready to sleep in my daughters bed earlier.

And then she goes and takes it a step further.

My breath hitches in my throat when I see the shadow of her arm as she lifts it up, and then she holds her hand over the side of my face, stroking me. Her hand is warm, her skin soft.

 _Jesus. Is she deliberately trying to cause me to suffer by tempting me?_

"Anastasia," I begin to warn her nervously, because I know if she-

She strokes the side of my face with her thumb repetitively, gently. "What? I'm not doing anything. I just want to..."

I realize what she's trying to do when she shifts slightly closer on her side, sharing my pillow, until I feel her forehead press up against mine, the soft short strands of her fringe tickling my forehead. She remains there for a long moment, not moving, keeping her forehead pressed to mine, her thumb stroking around my cheekbone. Then she'll turn her hand only to use her knuckles to scrape them gently around my chin.

I'm reduced to simply staring at the dark outline of her face in the shadows, stunned, perplexed and wide-eyed at her behavior, at what she's doing. She doesn't mean it to be tempting or sexual, it occurs to me. This is her way of comforting me. For the 1st time in so many fucking years, someone is actually comforting me over my fucked-up childhood, and is making me feel better in their own way.

"You asked earlier tonight if I found you attractive, Anastasia," I mumble thoughtlessly, and I think I see her eyes open slowly at my words.

I can see them shining in the dark, and in another circumstance, I might have found it fucking unnerving, the close proximity with both our heads on my pillow, yet right now, it's soothing to me.

"The answers yes, but... not for the obvious reasons." I shouldn't be saying it, yet I feel inspired, inspired and deeply touched by her demonstration of solace. "Your beautiful, and young. Inquisitive, intelligent, yes. But that isn't just what makes you so." I swallow audibly when I feel her thumb tracing down my ear, my jaw. "It's... how kind-hearted you are, as well. I feel I rarely come across that nowadays in my life."

SORRY I ONLY HAD SHORT TIME TO WRITE THIS AND GET THIS BIT OUT, HOPE YOU DON'T MIND :) I WILL UPDATE AGAIN LONGER IN A FEW DAYS, HOPE IT'S NOT TOO BAD OR CHEESY ARGH


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

IN TOO DEEP

Light fills into the room, coaxing me out of my deep sleep into wakefulness. It takes me a second to realize where I am, and in just who's place I'm sleeping over at. There's a large dresser to the right of me, with a collection of cologne bottles and aftershave. There's a sliding door near it, halfway open, which presumably opens up into someone's own bathroom suite.

There's no posters or girly things in this room. It isn't Kate's room, obviously. Last night comes to me slowly, the memory, in fractured slow pieces. Turning up, lying that I had nowhere else to go. Christian and I dancing to Frank Sinatra, then... kissing. I press my lips together to stop a happy smile at the thought, my cheeks gushing with heat. Someone's breathing loudly next to me, and they're huddled around me, their body pressed up against my back. I peer down, careful not to move too much as their breaths tickle my hair.

A strong muscular long arm is draped over my waist beneath the sheets. I'm spooning someone, and they're still off, dreaming away.

 _Christian._ I asked to come into his room last night, overcome with courage. He'd said yes.

And now, here I am, and we're spooning, his bare feet wedged between mine.

We're spooning. I'm actually in bed, spooning with my best friend's dad.

His breaths keep tickling the back of my head. Careful to be quiet and to keep the noise as minimal as possible, I shift over onto my back, turning my chin to glance beside me. His heads on the same pillow as mine, and since I've moved the way I have on the pillow, our faces become extra close now.

I never once imagined I'd be doing this. Spooning and sharing the same bed as my best friend's father, the man I've had a crush on ever since I'd 1st met him. Yet here we are. And what a good view it is.

Slowly, I run my eyes down his face while he sleeps. I should be freaking out about sleeping in the bed with my best friend's father, but I can say with confidence that I'm not. This feels like the best moment of my entire life, cheesy as it is.

Christian, Mr Grey, sleeping, looks somehow different than usual. His mouth is slightly parted as he breathes. He looks younger, more carefree. Not stressed, in a sense.

My eyes drift down to the front of the shirt he's wearing while I lick my lips, moistening them.

Our whispered conversations in the dark last night come back to me, as well. How he'd told me of his childhood, something I never even knew about him. And the scars I'd seen on his chest- I'd always assumed that there must have been some heroic story behind them, like he'd had heart surgery or he'd been attacked and had fought off a shark. Not that he'd actually gone through something so traumatic as a child.

I guess that goes to show that, simply by looking at someone, you should never assume you know what it is that they've been through.

I wonder if Kate knows about his childhood, if he's spoken to her and told her about what he's went through, as part of a daughter-father bonding thing. I can't remember Kate ever telling me anything like that. But surely they've spoken about it, right?

I remember, out of curiosity, asking my mother what it was like when she'd grown up, and how her parents were when they raised her. Isn't that sort of the question every child asks their parents?

I find myself wanting to kiss him. I could easily do it, leaning over towards his face, yet I feel suddenly too shy to. Sadly, I think all my bravery last night has ran over it's quota and it's slowly working its way up to getting replenished again. Still, I think back to last night, how it felt, us kissing. His lips had felt surprisingly rough and warm, but that's probably due to the stubble he's sporting. God, I kissed my best friend's dad and now, we're sleeping in the same bed together!

And what's worse, I don't feel bad at all. There are no regrets whatsoever. Just... pure plain happiness.

He makes a little abrupt snorting noise that I find far more adorable than I probably should. Then, slowly, his eyes blink open, a hazy, distant, sleepy grey. He blinks heavily at me several times, looking around the room. Then I see the shift, the mental connection of him remembering me coming into his bedroom too.

"Good morning," he murmurs, and he rolls slightly on his back, putting distance between us. "How did you sleep?"

"Morning. I slept surprisingly well."

"Me too, actually." He lifts up a hand, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. His voice is thick and deep with sleep. "Strange."

"Strange? What is?"

"I don't think I've ever slept this well in quite a while."

"I know the feeling." I hesitate, biting down on my bottom lip with my teeth. That heat returns to my cheeks again at the realization. "I realize I've never slept with someone else before. Well, a person of the opposite sex, I mean. Despite that, I slept really good myself."

"Believe me, it's a new thing for me as well," Christian says. Then he frowns, backtracking on his comment. "Well, not the sleeping with someone else part, because I was married to a woman since I was 18 but the... daughter's friend part, of course."

Sadly, to my disappointment we don't get to talk some more while in bed together.

Suddenly we both become aware of a noise, like someone's unlocking the front door to his place. Someone has a key. Shit, is it Kate? Is she home from her Mom's early?

 _"Hey, Grey. You being a lazy fart and are sleeping in for once?"_ It takes me a moment to process what I hear. _"You haven't forgotten about our golfing game now, have you?_ " Just like that, I remember. Oh, Taylor. His security man and their regular golf games every Saturday morning.

Panicked, I turn, glancing at Christian nervously. I almost expect him to freak out in a major way. Even kick me out. But to my surprise- or maybe more like relief- he simply blinks at me with wide-eyes for a few seconds, then swallows audibly.

"Oh, shit," he grumbles under his breath, then he climbs out of the bed, dressed in very short shorts. I get a nice view of his long, muscular legs as he hurriedly rushes past me towards his dresser. "Shit, Taylor. Shit." Rummaging through his dresser, he grabs a pair of jeans. Then he steps into them and slides them on quickly, panting shallowly. "I completely forgot about Taylor coming around for golf."

"You want me to go into Kate's room?" I ask quietly, because he still hasn't told me what to do.

"No, no, it's fine." He runs a hand through his hair, trying to make himself look more decent, I guess. "But if you could just do me a favor?"

"Sure?"

"Just... please, try to pretend as though you're not here. I mean, try not to let Taylor see you. Since Kate isn't here, he'll find it suspicious that-" And he doesn't need to say more.

"No, I get it. I'll stay unseen."

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

Fuck, I'd completely forgotten that Taylor comes around for our competitive game of golf, as a way to relax and unwind. Why am I so goddamn forgetful? I suppose I'll blame it on the glasses of alcohol last night.

I feel Anastasia's eyes on me while I literally run around the bed, yanking open the drawer to where my clothes are. I'll just have to make do with what I've slept in, the T-shirt, because I know I don't have much time. I can't even have the time to feel self-conscious as I tug on my jeans, doing up the fly, while trying to make my hair seem more presentable.

Besides, if Taylor's really going to get suspicious, I can always blame it on getting drunk and having a hangover, so long as Anastasia remains unseen. He cannot see her.

I hate to do it to her, I hate to seem like an asshole but there's really no other way. If Taylor finds out that Anastasia's here while my daughter is away, if Taylor finds out we even slept in the same room together... "Just... please, try to pretend as though you're not here. I mean, try not to let Taylor see you. Since Kate isn't here, he'll find it suspicious that-"

"No, I get it. I'll stay unseen."

I wince at the sound of her voice, turning towards her. She sounds utterly fine with it, yet I have my doubts. But when I scrutinize her face carefully while she sits there, the half of her body swaddled in the sheets, long hair slightly messy from the pillow, she seems absolutely fine with it.

I stare at her a moment longer while I hear Taylor downstairs again.

 _"Hey, man. Where are you? You know, it's not like you to sleep in late! You doing okay up there?"_

There's something alluring about her, the way she looks, bright-eyed and fresh from sleep. She looks, dare I even admit it, tempting- like the sight of her alone is calling me and tempting me back to the bed to lay beside her. Why the fuck does she have to look so effortlessly, innocently adorable right now?

 _"Grey?"_ Taylor's voice tears me out of my little moment, and suddenly I'm overwhelmed with anxiety again. Shit. Seeing as Taylor has a 15 year old daughter, he'd castrate me if he ever found out- not that I'd blame him. I'd do the same as well. Then I hear the clinking of glass bottles downstairs. _"Ah, it's no wonder you've slept in, man! Look at all this booze!"_

"Hurry," Anastasia mouths urgently, waving her hand, ushering me away. "Go!" And it's all I need.

Raking my fingers through my hair once more while hoping to God the shirt that I've slept in doesn't look too bad, I head downstairs, calling back to Taylor. I find him in the kitchen, the gin and vodka bottles I drank from last night laid there for him to see.

"How you doing today, man?" Taylor reaches over, clapping me on the back. I can only be grateful that there's nothing of Anastasia's belongings here downstairs right now, no evidence. "You feeling up to our usual game?" His eyes roam over my face and I wonder what he sees. Do I look guilty? Can he notice something is up with me? Does he suspect?

"Yeah, I'm definitely good for our game, Taylor. I just slept in a little later than normal."

"You got a hangover?" Taylor asks, concerned.

"A little." I move past him, grabbing my shoes. I'm barefooted, and I only just notice the instance I sit down on the couch, realizing I'd have to go back upstairs to get a fresh pair of socks.

Fuck it, I decide, unlacing the shoes anyway. No socks today. There's no way I'm risking heading back upstairs with all of that temptation right now.

"I went a little overboard last night, Taylor." I decide I may as well ham it up, pretending to be more hungover than I truly feel. I wipe my arm over my forehead with a sigh. "I was taking advantage of Katherine being away at her mother's house for the weekend. Thought it's about time I get drunk."

I can feel myself sweating beneath the armpits. There's so much pressure to act normal around him. If I fuck it up, I'm dead.

"You feeling okay with everything?" I really wish Taylor wouldn't have to ask.

I get the suspicion that he thinks I'm back to how I was before, not coping well with the divorce, grieving again. But oddly enough, I've never felt better as I do now.

"I'm good, Taylor," I mutter, shrugging it off. Laces finally done and shoes on, I stride towards where I keep my golf clubs and glove, Taylor following behind me.

 _He won't find out,_ I tell myself, sending a swift glance up towards the area of my bedroom window briefly as we start heading out back. _Taylor won't realize she's here. Everything's fine._

ANA POINT OF VIEW

I wait around for a while, lounging in Christian's bed until I know for sure the coast is clear and that they've both left the house. Once it's quiet and their voices have faded off, I climb out of the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible while I move around it, making it up again, straightening the sheets and pillows neatly.

Once his bed seems neat enough, I hesitate on tip-toes, wondering whether it's safe or if it would be dangerous to take a peek outside the window of his bedroom, making sure they're truly distracted. Inhaling in nervously, I risk it, lunging towards the curtains quickly, peeking out.

I spot them instantly, first chance I peer out.

I see Christian and Taylor in the large backyard, already getting into their game of golf. Although Christian's wearing the same shirt he slept in the bed with me last night, and the shirts a little wrinkled, he hasn't showered, and he was just brutally awoken and forced out with Taylor barely 10 minutes ago, I can't help thinking he looks incredibly good. Even in a day old, unironed shirt, he looks amazing.

Taylor just stands behind him, watching him, both of them seeming completely invested in their game. I watch as Christian braces himself to swing, lining the little white ball on the tee. Even doing something like swinging a golf club, he does it so well, so attractively. He takes a big swing with his lone white glove on his dominant hand, and I hum quietly to myself, impressed as the little ball sails through the air far, far away.

I cannot believe this is the same man I snuggled with in bed all last night. Well, I cannot believe Kate's dad and I spooned together, that he even admitted to reciprocating my feelings as well- though nothing can be done about it.

He turns to Taylor, his expression animated as he talks. He seems so relaxed and carefree, like he's not hiding me in his house, his daughter's friend. He's really good at acting.

When I think I see the outline of Taylor's head moving towards the house, I duck hurriedly, falling to my knees on the carpet, my heart racing with anxiety.

Terrible as it is, it's sort of exciting to me, this whole entire thing; Pretending I'm not here, hiding. There's something fun about knowing that I could be caught, that we could be caught by Taylor even if there isn't really anything going on between us. Sure, we shared a kiss last night and we slept in the same bed, but... sadly, that was it. It isn't like we had sex, much as I may wish we had.

I wonder if I could get away with having a shower while they're out there but I don't want to risk it. Instead, I head back into Kate's room, grabbing my bag with my clothes in it. I just end up taking my time, brushing my hair while changing into some fresh, clean clothes. Christian hasn't showered anyway, so I guess we can both be unclean together.

I end up sitting on Kate's bed, waiting nervously until I hear them finish their game, keeping well out of sight and quiet. I hear them after about what feels like 30 minutes later, their voices floating up the stairs into Kate's room.

"Good game, Taylor." Christian sounds pleased. "Better luck next time."

"It usually goes that way, doesn't it?" Taylor's laughing. "One week, I'm winning. Next week, your winning and I'm losing. Good game, anyway."

Then their voices drift off into silence. I get to my feet, sneaking towards the doorway of Kate's bedroom, listening carefully. _Is he going to leave now? Is it safe?_

"Your girl at her mom's this weekend?"

Damn it. I fall back, leaning my shoulder against the wall.

"Yeah, it's her mom's turn this weekend so I'm all alone."

"You know, it's just a suggestion but... if you want, you could always come over for dinner? That way you can have company so it isn't so quiet? Gail would be delighted?"

"Maybe, Taylor. I'll have to consider it sometime."

 _More silence again. Is now the time?_

"Good. Well, guess I'll leave you to it. Good game, like I said."

"Bye, Taylor. See you next week."

Finally, I hear a car running and I know it's safe. I come out of Kate's bedroom, biting my fingernails nervously as I approach the stairs. I wait and listen a bit more, then start climbing down the stairs slowly, a foot at a time. I edge slowly around the corner, finding Christian closing the front door.

"Is it safe now?" I mutter apprehensively.

"Yeah, it's safe. We're in the clear now." He turns to look my way while peeling off the Velcro strap on his white glove. "That was lucky." He licks his lips, releasing an unsteady breath.

"So he didn't suspect anything?"

"I don't think so," he admits, his brow furrowing. "I'm sure he didn't even know anything was amiss." He sits on the couch, bending to unlace his shoes.

"What do you think would happen if Taylor did find out I was here, your daughter's friend?" I know I probably shouldn't be asking, but I'm curious. "You think he'd assume something was... going on between us?" I can't imagine he would. Him and Christian seem like really good pals.

Christian stares down at his shoes for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he shrugs. "I'm not sure what he'd think," he says. "But I surmise he would think something bad of it."

"You don't think he'd give you the benefit of the doubt, knowing how you really are as a person and that... you aren't the type to mess around with your daughter's friend?"

His eyes flicker up to meet mine, something there in them. He suddenly seems a little tense, his broad shoulders squared. Then he glances away, leaning back while he kicks off each shoe with his bare heels. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up? He clearly doesn't feel comfortable speaking about it.

"I was thinking if... you had no other plans yourself for the day, if you wanted to get lunch and eat it on The Grace?"

I feel my heart leap in relief at his suggestion. Obviously, I had no other plans. "I would love to," I whisper softly. "That would be great."

"Good. Let me just go put on a fresh shirt and then we can go."

* * *

With Christian now dressed in a stark-white, tight polo shirt that's sleeves stop at the forearms, we get into his car, Christian turning on the engine. I'm really relieved he suggested getting lunch and going on his boat. I'd really enjoyed it last time- and the thought of us, eating lunch, being together alone on his boat, it excites me more than it probably should.

To my surprise, Frank Sinatra's voice doesn't spill out on his stereo this time. Instead, it's a woman with a beautiful voice, singing a version of 'Over the Rainbow'. I don't believe I've heard her singing before.

"Who's this singer?" I ask curiously while Christian glances back, reversing smoothly out of the driveway and onto the road. "Your not playing Frank's music?"

"No, I thought I'd give it a break. It's Eva Cassidy this time."

"Oh, wow." I've never heard of her before. "Her voice is really good."

"Isn't it? She died very young."

"Really? How old was she? What did she die of?"

"Melanoma. She was only 33."

"33?" I feel genuinely shocked and saddened. "That's really sad. And very young, like you said."

He laughs suddenly, and I can't help smiling back at his infectious laughter as I peer over at him. I find him looking my way, his grey eyes shining.

"What?" I ask suspiciously. "Did I do or say something silly?"

"No, of course not, Anastasia. It's just..." Christian pauses, lifting up to rub around his chin with his fingers. "I like how... genuinely curious and interested you are about things."

I'm not sure whether he's meaning that as a compliment or not. "Is that in a good way?" I breathe, shyly.

"Of course, definitely in a good way." He laughs again, and I really wish his laugh and even his smile didn't affect me the way it does. It's so spine-tingling, so... good. "Your just so different from Katherine. I can't imagine us ever speaking about Eva Cassidy or even... Frank. She doesn't show curiosity or interest in the things that you do."

"But isn't that a good thing?" I murmur back, staring at the side of his face. He stares outside the windshield, concentrating seriously on driving.

" _Of course_ it is."

I really like the polo shirt he's wearing, it does wonders for him. The sleeves are short, showing off his muscular arms. I really like his arms. But hey, who am I kidding? I like all of him, even if he clearly can't see it of himself. He's just... delicious, everything about him. I realize I'm perving, and I force my eyes away, glancing outside the window on my side deliberately.

"You don't drive?" he asks, speaking through the silence between us again. I'm glad he does.

"Yeah, that's right. I don't."

"You're not interested in getting your drivers license?" He looks in my direction again, his expression interested.

"No, it isn't really that I'm not interested. I mean, I definitely want to."

"Then why not?"

"I just... can't afford a car. Or really... have someone teach me." I try to imagine myself asking my mom to teach me how to drive, and almost laugh out loud. My mom's always too busy, too preoccupied.

"You could always borrow Katherine's car?" He suggests gently. "Or mine, even?"

I look into his eyes, meeting his gaze. "You'd let me?" I whisper, surprised.

"Of course. And, although I work late hours, I wouldn't mind teaching you if that's what you need?"

I feel my throat tighten with thankfulness. He's so good, so nice. "Thank you," I murmur, touched. "That's really sweet of you, but... I'm really not sure if-"

"-You need to be able to drive," Christian points out, sounding very firm on the matter. I guess he really believes in what he's saying. "Especially when you need freedom, at your age. It'll help tremendously. Katherine isn't even the same now that she's gotten her license and can drive a car. It opens up a lot of doors. And besides," he adds, his voice huskily brighter, "I bet I'd enjoy teaching you how to drive more than my daughter, considering we have mutual interest in Frank Sinatra's music."

I laugh at his words. "Yes, probably."

We fall into another peaceful silence again in the car, listening to Eva Cassidy's sweet, soulful voice. Every now and then, I'll catch myself compulsively glancing over at him, watching him. Then I remember how he said he found me attractive last night, and I feel all mushy, just like that. I notice we haven't really spoken again on what happened between us last night. Or does he feel like there's nothing else to say? Does he want to forget about it or... is it just not a big deal to him?

"There's a nice place near the marina," he says, breaking through my thoughts. "I thought we could grab a bite there and carry it back to the boat with us?"

"Um, okay. Great."

* * *

Once we finally reach the waterfront and the marina, Christian finds a place to park, and we hop out of the car. He locks it up and I follow him, where we walk side by side while he leads the way to the place he mentioned that serves food. I don't realize how close we're walking together, until his arm brushes against mine, the back of his hand against my knuckles. I feel myself redden at the contact, but if he's noticed it, he doesn't say or do anything.

There's a seafront bar with a little seating dining area and drinks that are served. It's obvious Christian knows the owner really well, because they smile and are pleasant, shaking hands with each other while I stand sort of huddled behind him. Then the owner glances my way, and I hear him comment about it to Christian.

"That's not your daughter?" the man says, and my heart jumps.

"Uh, Jesus no. She's not my daughter, Dante," Christian says back, and I catch an edge to his voice. He seems almost nervous. Horrified even, at the assumption. "Can we get some fish and chips to go?"

"Of course, man. I'll cook you a fresh batch."

Christian takes his wallet out of jeans while turning back to me. "Is there anything in particular that you'd like to drink, Anastasia?"

"Um..." I glance over at the drinks they're offering. There's multiple bottles of wine and alcohol drinks, but I'm assuming alcohol is off the menu, seeing as I'm underage. "Ginger ale, maybe?"

"And two ginger ales please, Dante."

Once our orders done, he carries the fish and chips while I carry our ginger ales. We walk along the marina where so many of the boats are. I think his boat definitely is the best.

"He thought I was your daughter?" I point out to him, trying to make a joke out of it while Christian walks beside me.

He actually shudders and closes his eyes, making a face that makes me laugh, "Please, don't remind me."

I really hope he doesn't think of me like a daughter, even although I'm technically his daughters age. He said he found me attractive last night, we kissed. That means he doesn't, right? At least I'm hoping so.

We find his boat on the dock and Christian steps aboard first, putting down our lunch. Then, empty-handed, he leans over, grabbing me by the waist, helping me up. I feel myself flush when he leads me to where he put the food while I carry our drinks.

"It's nice out," I comment, just to make conversation. It's a bright, sunny day, not a cloud in sight. The wind is really mild as well.

"Do you want to eat 1st or do you want us to find somewhere quiet?"

"Let's find somewhere quiet," I say, without thought.

I should be embarrassed by my eagerness to be alone with him, in privacy, yet I'm not. If we go somewhere private on his boat, it means we'll be truly, genuinely private and alone. Just the 2 of us, stranded by seawater, with not any prying eyes in sight? Sounds perfect to me.

Stepping closer to me, Christian grabs the bottles of ginger ale, moving to place them down where he put our lunch. As he comes back towards me, he rubs both hands together, almost in a wicked, excited way. "All right, come on," he mutters, and suddenly, he reaches out, extending his hand out to me. I have no idea what he means.

"Huh?" I laugh in confusion. "What do you-"

He grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his. Then he starts dragging me along, leading me towards the wheel on The Grace.

"You can steer her this time," he explains to me. "I know how much you enjoyed it last time, so I'm putting her in your capable hands, Captain."

What? He's letting me steer the boat all the way this time? "But Christian, I- I don't even know how to start it?"

"It's easy. Come on."

Getting me behind the wheel, he does a few things while I wait. He radios in using a little transmitter thing, speaking into it. Then he does all this other stuff that confuses me. I have to admit that, like how I thought before when I watched him with his boat, there's something sexy about him being able to handle a boat; something so big, so monstrous. Then again, golfing, eating... is there anything I do not find sexy about Kate's dad?

"All right. Grip the wheel tight and keep her straight, Anastasia."

It all happens so quickly. One second, there's this sound of the engine starting, then The Grace begins to move. I glance behind me nervously, only to find Christian has vanished. Crap, where's he gone? To my relief, I spot him unhooking the boat from the marina and then we really start to move, floating away from the dock.

When he finally returns to me, I feel my stomach do somersaults as Christian stands behind me, slipping his arms between mine. I remember what happened last time, how I brushed my backside against him on purpose, and struggle not to smile to myself. I'm really tempted to do it again.

And it's so nice, it's so freeing. I look down at the chaise, finding it empty this time. Kate's not here, it's just me and her dad, alone, at sea. The thought makes me so happy and I can't help wishing for more, hoping for something to happen between us. Even despite us having a conversation about it last night,a little heart-to-heart that nothing could happen between us.

 _What's there to stop us now, being literally deserted and stranded on sea like this?_

I suddenly remember that there's a bed in the cabin.

"How are we feeling, Sailor?" Christian shouts in my ear. The wind has began to pick up the further away we get, deeper into the sea, my hair blowing around us.

"Really good," I shout back. "I definitely don't feel as nervous as I did last time."

His hands tighten over mine. "Your doing great." He's standing so close, the tip of his nose brushes against my ear. I wonder what he'd do if I kissed him again like last night. "Let me know when you want to stop and we'll cut the engine so we can eat our lunch." His voice gets too much to me, the fact he's speaking against my ear with his mouth. I shudder, right from my shoulders, to my toes, at his voice. To my dismay he notices a second later, "You feeling cold?"

"Not really. Um, I'm good."

"It's a pity we didn't bring a spare change of clothes. We could have swam. It's a nice day for it." His hands come up to rest on each of my shoulders, and I literally feel like I'm hyperventilating at the contact, no matter how innocent he probably intends it to be.

He's standing behind me, head low to my ear so he can talk to me over the wind, and now he's got his hands on my shoulders? How am I supposed to handle this?

"Um, I really like spending time with you," I blab back at him, still startled over the fact he has his hands on me. "I... I really enjoy being with you."

His fingertips rub back and forth over my shirt into my shoulder muscles, like he's attempting to warm me from the breeze. "The feelings mutual, Anastasia. Trust me."

I move my head to the side, and he leans back a little to glance down at me. There's something soft in his expression, his pupils dilated. He looks my face over as his fingers resume with their ministrations, flexing and massaging the skin on my shoulder blades throughout my shirt. _God, I'm already lost and hyperventilating and he's just doing something as normal as trying to keep me warm from the breeze because I'm only wearing a shirt like he is?_

"I still have jackets in the cabin," he says, and my eyes drop to his lips. "Want me to go grab you one? It does tend to drop in temperature out here from the wind, like.. no doubt you noticed last time out here?" I feel idiotic, captivated by the way Christian's mouth is moving as he raises his voice at me over the wind, captivated over how his teeth move while he speaks. I so want him to kiss me right now. It's almost unbearable and painful, the need.

"You said you find me attractive last night? That you find me kind-hearted?" It comes out of my mouth before I even know what I'm intending to say, my eyes lifting his again.

I notice he glances away from me briefly, ahead of the wheel, a strange look coming across his face. Then he slowly meets my gaze again, and he nods, once. His hands have stopped touching my shoulders. I feel them loosen around them, and then, surprising me, he lifts them higher, until he's cupping around my neck and the sides of my throat with them, his palms warming me. He holds his hands there, so gently, like I'm so breakable. Then he leans down, putting his mouth near my ear again, fingertips stroking my throat, "I did, Anastasia, and I do but... what about it?"

He leans back to meet my gaze again, shaking his head slightly.

"I want you to kiss me again." I've become so brave these past few days, I'm not even sure where it's come from. Maybe it's knowing I'll be off at college soon, that times running out? "Like... like last night?"

"Anastasia..." He stares at me for a moment, shaking his head again, his forehead creasing in what seems frustration, annoyance. "You know we... we shouldn't. We talked about this, about it... it being something we'll look back on in the future and we'll laugh about it, not regret it."

"I think we're meant to be together," I say, the words coming out of my teeth desperately. I don't care if its cheesy to say that, or if he even doesn't feel that way about me, but... it's the way I feel. I can't hold it in any longer. "I know it probably sounds... cliche or cheesy, but... that's how I honestly feel, Christian. I feel like, why fight it? If it happens, then... just let go and let it happen?"

I try to turn against the wheel to face him, but with the way he's holding me, with the way he's behind me, it's hard.

"I mean, I'm 17, it isn't like it's something completely illegal that we'd be doing together? We're not... breaking any rules and if... just for 1 moment, you want to let go, then we can let go? I'd never tell Kate about it if you want to just... let go? I'd hope that you know you could trust me not to tell Kate, if that's what your worried about?"

I can see his face when I lean against the wheel, arching my head back. I see the hesitance in his deep grey eyes, the... worry and indecision in them, yet something else, something like need? His eyes drop to my mouth, his own lips parting. Need and desire?

I think I hear him make a low sound at the back of his throat, a noise though I might be mistaken through the wind, and then he does it. Hands moving up below my chin, he clasps onto it, holding me still and in place, and before I know it, he's bending down, kissing me deeply.

It's different from the last time he kissed me last night, how he tasted of alcohol and vodka when he was drinking. This time, it isn't done because he's feeling a little under the influence. No, it's all him, and I relish in it, in the moment. I close my eyes deeply, shutting them to the wet wind thrashing my hair around and rocking the boat, focusing on nothing else but this 1 moment, this 1 sensation where his lips press and begin to move against mine.

Like every time he smiles or laughs, I get the spine-tingles. It gets worse with his lips on me, it's like an electric current darting through me, reviving me, overly dramatic as that sounds.

Finally succeeding in arching away from the wheel, I manage to get my hands on him, wrapping my arms around his neck as his mouth leisurely, slowly moves against mine, like he's curiously getting a feel for them. I've never been kissed before, admittedly, but I realize then that there is really no difficulty or trick to it. I let him take the reigns, matching the movement of his own lips against mine, ignoring everything around us.

His thumb strokes my chin as he remains holding me in place, and as he leans back fractionally, disengaging our lips for a second, I feel my heart start beating erratically faster as suddenly he captures my bottom lip between the both of his. He sucks, an odd yet pleasant sensation, yanking on my bottom lip slightly, and it feels really, really good. Heavenly even.

The rush I feel, it makes me dizzy. And then as Christian goes to move back again, ending our kissing, my eyes flutter open again, and I feel heady, drugged. High.

He pulls away slowly, gently releasing my chin, then he reaches over, grabbing onto the wheel, straightening our course on the boat in case we crash into anything. Dozily, I grin widely to myself as I touch my lips carefully with my fingertips, still feeling the warmth of his mouth and the slight tingle of how it felt when he sucked on my bottom lip. I peer up at Christian from where I stand as he takes charge, steering the boat now. He doesn't look as blissful as I feel and my heart sinks.

"Everything OK, Captain?" I mutter to him, copy him when he kept calling me that name himself.

I notice he doesn't look at me; He looks far ahead of us, into the horizon, the sea water, his eyes squinted, hair ruffling in the wind while he grips the wheel hard. When I look at his hands, I see his knuckles are white.

I get the feeling we're back there, back to last night. How he apologized so much and was so guilty afterwards, when I wanted it myself.

"Please don't say we're back there," I murmur over the wind nervously. My voice comes out too high, too croaky. "Back to what happened last night especially after what I just said. About... about letting go for even just 1 mo-"

"-I knew I was fooling myself," he says over me, but I feel like he's saying it more to himself. "I can't trust myself, no matter how... _hard_ I try." He releases a hand off the wheel, pushing his hair back in the wind, his jaw clenching tight. "I was stupid. Why did I even think for 1 minute that it'd be fine if we came out here-"

"I like spending time with you, and I like being out here like this," I say. "I _thought_ you said you liked it, too?"

"I can't be alone with you, not ever," he hisses loudly, angrily. "I've just proved it to myself, I can't trust myself. I can't... _behave._ "

He's so frustrating. "Can't you see that you _don't have to behave around me_ , Christian? Can't you see that I want this?"

"Fuck, Anastasia..." He lets go of the wheel, rubbing his eyes with both palms. I've truly never seen him this way before. "You have your whole life ahead of you, once you start college or whatever, you'll find some...young man your age that you can be with, can't you see that?"

"But I don't want anyone else! I've never wanted anyone else but you before, and honestly, I can't see myself ever wanting anyone else! I want _you_!"

"Anastasia, I've been married once before! I'm... by lack of other terminology, damaged goods! I can't even fucking move past the fact that my ex wife divorced me because I failed her, I failed her in some way because I was... not good enough for her!" Wiping his palms over his eyes, he drops them, finally turning to look at me. His eyes are serious, pleading, "I'm in my 30's, I'm someone's father!" I can't even understand what point he's trying to make. As if that matters to me or changes the fact that I want him? "I have so much baggage, _so many_... personal issues that I still struggle with! You _don't want_ that, do you?"

He stares at me, his expression anxious, one hand held up between us, as if to emphasize his point.

I swallow, trying to work out what he's trying to say, what I'm supposed to say. I realize he's pointing this all out to me because he's scared, he's scared to let go, to give in. He's trying to throw me off.

"I don't care," I decide. "I don't care about any of that, and whatever you have to say, it won't... sway me otherwise, Christian, because... I see you as so much more than that! Than so much more than you clearly see yourself!" I understand now, with so much clarity. "You don't see yourself the way I see you, because... yes, you've gone through a hard divorce, and yes, you're a father and your older than me by quite a gap!"

My voice is shaking with emotion and I don't know how to make it sound stronger, but I decide I don't even care.

"When I look at you, I see this amazing, gorgeous man who's been through a hard time like most people have, but that's just... something everyone goes through! Everyone goes through hard times but... but that doesn't mean they don't deserve to have someone or to find someone who can see them as someone so amazing and support them!"

Emboldened by how strong I am trying to make my point, I move closer, lifting up, touching both of his shoulders with my hands.

"Despite all that, I still want to be with you! I still find you to be the most amazing person I've ever met, and no matter what you-"

Grabbing my chin tightly, he bends down, pressing his mouth to mine, cutting my words off before I can even finish them.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING SO LOVELY, EVERY READER, ALERT AND REVIEW, I APPRECIATE SO MUCH! I DO HOPE THIS ONE ISN'T TOO CHEESY, I AM SO NERVOUS WHEN I POST ON THE STORY! PLEASE BE NICE WITH ME! IT WILL PICK UP PACE AND HAVE TIME JUMP, SORRY IF TOO SLOW MOVING!


	16. Chapter 16

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 16

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

After a while, Christian manages to stall the boat so that we can eat our lunch. To be honest, after kissing, I'd frankly completely forgotten about our fish and chips.

Even minutes afterward, I still feel light headed and spaced out while he shuts off the engine and does a few other things to The Grace to stall her. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of happiness, my head foggy. I can't even seem to stop what probably is the most ridiculously huge grin on my face as I watch him, completely in his element with his boat. Maybe the fact that it's my 1st proper real and actual kiss with a man that's doing it?

Either way, I manage to pull off seeming somewhat normal, at least. I manage to carefully step down to grab our individual bags of fish and chip while holding each of our ginger ale bottles tucked beneath my arms as well.

"You ready to eat?" he calls once the engine seems to stop spluttering. Now, we aren't moving as fast as we were before. Now, we're sort of just rocking and floating on the waves and the sea pleasantly.

"Sure," I call back, feeling myself flush uncontrollably as I peer over at him.

I notice his tongue runs over his bottom lip as he stares at me, both arms outstretched, hands waiting to help with carrying our lunch or the bottles. I never realized how good it could be, kissing a man. I'm pretty sure my lips are even still tingly; an aftereffect from his lips.

Christian grabs the bottles of ginger ale out from my arms, then points towards that lone chaise where Kate sat last time when the 3 of us were out on The Grace together. "Want to sit over there?" he asks, raising his voice slightly so I can hear.

"Sure, sounds great."

He lets me lead the way, and I feel him press his hand into my back, helping me along in case I slip and fall over, seeing as the boats sort of unsteady. But fortunately, I manage to get to the chaise without embarrassing myself. I sink down into the side of it, moving over to make room for him as well. Then he sits, and it's obvious the chaise is really only built for 1 person instead of 2. We're sort of squashed together, with our bare arms touching and his leg touching mine. But if anything, I'm happy with a little subtle, innocent touching with him, no matter what it is.

I hand him his packet and we eat in silence for a moment, just looking ahead at the view. It's really pretty at the front of the boat; There's so much deep blue water, so much spectacular landscape. I think I even see a mountain in the distance far, far away.

"The views beautiful," I say, then I bite into one of the chips. The food has gone a bit cold and soggy, but it's still good. I didn't realize how hungry I am, until the 1st mouthful I swallow. I realize I'm famished.

"It is, isn't it?" Christian's bare forearm brushes against mine every time he digs into his chips, his warm skin brushing against mine. It feels good. I like it. "I really don't get the chance to come out here often enough."

I peer over at him while nibbling on the end of another chip. He's staring deeply out into the ocean as he chews, his jaw muscles and tendons twitching. "And why don't you?" I ask curiously.

He meets my gaze as he swallows. "Because of work, mostly. It's hard to find the time."

"Well, it's definitely amazing out here." I really don't know what else to say. I look up at the blue, cloudless sky, at the birds soaring above us. Then when I look Christian's way again, I notice he's popping his fingers into his mouth, sucking off the salt from his chips. Seriously, is there anything the man does that I do not find attractive?

"So your mother takes advantage of you being away on the weekends?" he asks, and my stomach muscles tighten and knot a little. Him seeking answers about my mom, it's unexpected.

"Yeah, pretty much." I shrug it off, grabbing another chip. Talking about my relationship with my mom is hard for me. "It's... complicated. We're just not as close as a mother and daughter probably should be."

"How so?" He gazes at me, his eyes curious, intense. I don't think he's asking to be prying, not really. He's just curious.

"Well, I guess she's always more preoccupied with working and whatever man she's with at the time. But it's always been like that, though, ever since I can remember." I shrug again, checking to see if he's hopefully satisfied with that answer. And he seems to be. He's already getting started into devouring his piece of battered fish; He pulls and shreds it apart with his fingers, then pops small shreds of white fish flesh into his mouth. I should find it disturbing how much I like watching him eat. "I just find her... difficult to be close with. She's hard to talk to sometimes. She just seems too... busy and distracted by her own life, I guess."

He does that thing, popping his finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. It gives me the spine-tingles for some reason, just like his voice, his laugh, his... smile. It makes my stomach feel nice and tender, knowing that his mouth has been on mine, and his tongue even. His tongue was in my mouth, all moist and slippery and comfortingly warm.

I find myself wanting to change subject, to ask him something instead. I almost want to ask him something about his marriage and his ex wife, yet... would he be mad? I know it isn't really my place to ask. "So was she your 1st love?" I ask anyway, after delicately trying to work out the easiest and harmless way to phrase it.

Christian turns his head to look at me, his hair windswept in the breeze. "Who?" he asks, shaking his head a little, his voice barely audible over the light breeze.

 _Will this upset him? Will this cross a line?_ "You know, um, your... your ex wife? Kate's mom?"

I realize I've definitely made a mistake when Christian glances away from me, deliberately avoiding my gaze. He keeps his eyes on his fish as he picks it apart again with his fingers.

"It's OK if you don't want to answer," I get out quickly, worried I've ruined everything. "If you feel I'm hitting a nerve, then just tell me, Christian, and I'll drop it. I won't get offended or anything like that."

"I'm not offended," he mutters, eyes still low on the fish he's pulling apart. "But yes," he finally finishes quickly, then he plops a bit of fish into his mouth again, chewing slowly. I notice he still won't meet my eyes as he lifts his chin, gazing out into the sea before us. "Yes, she was my 1st love, Anastasia," he continues after a moment, his voice low, introspective. "My 1st everything, really. We married young. She was really the 1st... girl I was seriously interested in."

 _Wow._

I stare at the side of his face thoughtfully while starting to get into eating my crumbed fish. Obviously, I have no experience in what he's going through. Of course, I don't. But I guess they had a whole lifetime together, and then, it's sort of been ripped apart brutally all because of her deciding to leave him. It must be hard on anyone to have that happen. I guess it must be something you can't get over too easily.

I think I hear him sigh loudly while finishing up the last of his chips. Then he says eventually, "But then you get older and I suppose... things change. People want different things. Shit happens." He shrugs, then scrunches up his empty packet into a tight ball with both hands. He shoves his empty packet into his trouser pocket, still avoiding me. "Not long until you and Katherine graduate high school?" he then begins in a brighter tone. He's purposefully changing topic. I get the hint.

"I know. It's sort of scary but... exciting as well. Will you be attending the graduation ceremony?"

"Of course, I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world. Just like when you both graduate college, whenever that will be. I'll be there as well." Finally, he turns to look at me, but there's something there in his grey eyes, something different. It almost feels like he's stuck somewhere else, like he's deep in the past, in some distant memory. Maybe memories of his ex and their marriage? I'm not sure. "She'll be there," he adds, and yep, I realize my suspicions are right. He smiles at me, but it seems forced, not sincere. "Something to look forward to."

Kate's mom will be there as well? His ex? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that news, because, of course she'd be there. It still surprises me sort of though, the idea of getting the chance to see her, to see what she's like in person because I haven't seen her yet- I've only seen her through Facebook photos and know what she's like through Kate talking about her to me. I wonder if her new partner will be with her too on the day.

Christian stands suddenly, moving away from me to the front of the boat. He kneels down on his knees, bending low, dipping his hand into the sea water. And then, doing something I never thought he'd do, he splashes me!

He actually cups freezing cold sea water into his hand, and splashes it at me. I have to suppress the urge to squeal loudly in shock when water splatters against my bare arms. I can only stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in shock once I realize what he's done. He stares back at me, eyes glittering with amusement. If this is his way to brighten the mood and to deliberately stop us from talking about something he obviously finds depressing, like his previous marriage, it's working.

"You did not just do that!" I murmur breathlessly, and then I'm greeted by that spine-tingling laugh of his, that spine-tingling smile. "You did not just splash water on me right now!" I'm completely dumb-founded by his antics, unable to believe it.

And then he dares to do it again, but this time, water lands on my face. I block it barely in time nu throwing out my arms and squeezing my eyes shut, my fish and chips now long forgotten and falling off the chaise as I try pathetically to protect myself. A giggle escapes me as I wipe my around cheeks hurriedly.

"Don't you think your too old to be doing something like that to a poor, defenseless girl?" I tease, peeking at him with my eyes through the gap in my arms.

"I may be old on the outside, but on the inside..." He does it again, this time an even larger amount of water trickling over me. I shiver and squeal. The water is freezing! "What's that saying? Old on the outside but... young at heart on the inside? Or something like that?"

Dropping my arms, I get to my knees, sliding towards the front of the boat. I cannot even believe we are doing this, yet it feels so fun, so freeing. When I reach down over the barrier with my arm, dipping my fingers into the water, I glance over at him in playful warning, arching my eyebrows in what I hope is a convincing menacing expression.

For once, Christian, Mr Grey, he looks so carefree, so playful and boyish. He raises his eyebrows back at me, that smile still there on his face, eyes still bright with amusement. It's almost like we're 2 young children, being silly together. It's so nice to see him this way, because I definitely always get the feeling he doesn't let himself be silly all that often.

 _Definitely young at heart right now..._

"Payback time, Mr Grey," I mutter beneath my breath, then without warning, I scoop up some water, chucking it back at him.

He doesn't bother covering his face like I did when the sea water hits him. No, he just kneels there and freely takes it, but he clenches his eyes closed tight so water doesn't get into his eyes, that smile still there. Droplets of water fall around his shirt, drenching around his shoulders and the sleeves. Another giggle tears from my mouth as he reopens his eyes, meeting my gaze again.

Before he can even get the idea to retaliate it, I quickly do it again, before he can, flicking water at him. An idea comes to me as I stand, laughing at how wet he is, how his hair is practically dripping now with sea water.

It's a nice day, the suns out and it's not too windy. Just because we didn't bring any spare clothes, who says we can't swim? Besides, I decide I want to take advantage of this, of the fact that we're alone, just me and him.

"What are the chances of us catching hypothermia on a day like today?" I ask him while kicking off my shoes. I reach down to peel off my socks, only daring to peer down at him as I kick them safely to the side with my shoes.

He's staring up at me while he grips the bottom of his shirt, which he uses to mop up his wet forehead with the fabric. I can see his toned stomach and belly button.

"I'd say our chances on a day like today are highly unlikely. Why?"

I leave him hanging as I undo my trousers, yanking them down past my knees. I sort of want to show him how fun and daring I can be, and just how much he can be himself and have fun with me as well. I've never really worn just a pair of panties and a bra around someone before, but I try to seem confident about it. As I lift up with my arms, yanking off my shirt, I glance down at him again while biting down on my lip nervously.

Christian, kneeling, down near me, pauses with attempting to wipe up his face as he stares at me. I think I notice his eyes very quickly run down my body in just my bra and my underwear before he glances away immediately, forward at the landscape of the mountains ahead of us. I might be mistaken, but he seems almost a little... tense.

"I'll go in if you promise to come in too?" I whisper, hoping to make it seem like an enticing dare.

"What, you want to go swimming?" he asks, his eyes wide in alarm. "Now?"

"I will if you will? Like you just said, our chances of hyperthermia today are unlikely?"

To my relief, he doesn't turn me down or seems to need any further convincing.

I try not to look as Christian hastily unlaces his shoes, and pulls them off. He isn't wearing any socks. As he stands, I cannot resist looking. I just can't. I try not to seem too obvious with it as he unzips his jeans, then pulls them down, stepping out of them. Then just as quickly, he grabs the front of his shirt and peels it up over his head and off his body.

Like me, he's obviously not dressed in swimmers or is prepared to go for a dip. He's wearing black briefs, rather short. They cut off mid-thigh, showing off his long, muscular legs. And they're low at the pelvis too, showing off his hip indentations. Why does the man have to be so frigging gorgeous? Yeah, he may be older and someone's dad, but he's so hot!

I move my eyes away, just in time as he turns to look at me, and I can't help being relieved that he hasn't caught me perving and checking him out. I'm probably looking red as a red bell pepper.

"Ready then?" he asks, and I hesitate as I glance straight down at the sea water. It looks sort of deep down there. While I'm a fairly good swimmer, I really hope there won't be any sharks or ghastly sea creatures down here to attack us?

Christian's clearly braver than I am. Or maybe he's just trying to reassure me?

He steps over the railing at the front of his boat easily with his legs and then, barely a second later, he's diving straight into the water, completely submerging himself. It's impressive.

When he rises to the surface about 30 seconds later, he gasps for breath, lifting both arms to run his fingers through his damp hair, floating effortlessly as he peers up at me.

"You coming in or what?" he asks, and he sounds breathless.

"Is it really cold?" I ask nervously while climbing over the railings.

"Only for a few minutes, Anastasia. Just dive right in and you'll adjust to it."

Taking his word for it, I do what he says. Clamping my fingers over my nose while inhaling in deeply through my mouth, I squat, then jump off the boat, hitting the surface of the water and breaking through with an icy splash.

And he wasn't kidding. It's absolutely freezing.

I push my way up to the surface, squealing as I pop my head up out of the water, strands of my hair getting into my eyes. I push it back with my hands hastily as I use my legs, constantly moving them beneath the water, feeling a slow warmth trickle up the back of my legs from the exertion of using them. As it turns out, my bra isn't really designed to get wet in. I can almost feel my nipples peeking through the fabric, and I try to cover an arm over them self-consciously as I peer over at Christian to see what he's doing.

He's leisurely floating on his back, watching me. Even with his hair flat and damp from the water, he looks divine.

"See?" he murmurs knowingly while kicking his feet. I cannot contain a giggle when he starts floating near me. "It doesn't feel so cold after a while, does it?"

"You're right! I can feel myself getting warmer!"

I burst out laughing as he sinks back below the water without warning me. One second, he's just there, then in the next, he's completely gone, with his head sinking under the water. And then I feel something grab hold of one of my ankles, something that feels very much like his hand as he wraps his fingers tightly around it, and I'm being pulled under without my consent, being dragged down with my head under the water again.

He lets my ankle go just as quickly and I surface, coughing and spluttering, brushing my hair out of my face again hastily.

"Christian!" I scold with a glare as he surfaces himself. I can tell he's trying his very hardest not to laugh as he runs a hand through his wet hair. "You scared the shit out of me! I thought I was going to drown!"

"I'm sorry. Are you all right?" For once, Kate's father is back, all amusement immediately disappearing from his face as he blinks at me in concern instead. He kicks with his feet and uses his arms, swimming closer to me, "I'm sorry."

But then I can't stay mad for too long. I end up having to stifle a grin as I kick away from him, swimming to the other side of the boat. He ends up following right after me, unfairly matching my pace effortlessly.

We end up fooling around, floating in the water for what seems like over an hour. I can't even remember the last time I've swam at the beach, but this reminds me of why I enjoy it so much Apparently Christian feels the same.

"It's been a long, long time since I've done anything like this," he admits after he emerges from being underwater. He glides towards towards me until we're floating side by side, his face just barely inches from mine. "I've forgotten how much I actually enjoy swimming."

"Me, too," I agree with a grin. "It's fun. How long do you think we've been swimming for?"

"I'm not sure." He glances around us, up at the sky. The suns still brightly shining, but a distance away, a few clouds are forming. "Probably over an hour at the most?"

I peer at his face while floating, kicking my legs sporadically to keep myself upright. Beads of water roll from his damp hair, down his forehead. The line of his lips. I watch as his lips part slightly as he peers up above us, his eyes squinted in the sunlight. We haven't kissed anymore since it happened before on the boat, and I feel a crazy, mad urge to do it again. I want to move closer, wrap an arm around his shoulder even while we float. Press my damp lips to his. Only I'm too chicken right now. Where has all my braveness from before gone?

Suddenly, Christian turns his head, looking at me. I feel myself redden as I purposefully look away, watching the tips of my toes as I lift them slightly above the surface of the water.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, curious.

I feel my insides do a little jump as I try not to smile like an idiot. "Um, nothing. I just... I really like it out here. It's beautiful. Peaceful, even."

"Hmm, me too."

I realize my feet are tingling. "I think my bodies starting to get a little too cold," I murmur, cringing.

"You want to get out?"

"Maybe, yeah." I spin around, doggy-paddling back towards the boat. I reach up, gripping the railing. Then I realize that, once I climb out, my underwear is probably going to be see-through. He'll probably see through my underwear if I go 1st. But trying to seem confident, I heave myself up, the water dripping out from my drenched underwear, my bra. I deliberately don't glance back as I step over the railing, running both hands through my wet hair. It feels good anyway, despite how see-through my bra and underwear probably is.

Finding my shoes and my dry T-shirt and jeans, I grab them, only just hearing Christian panting behind me as he grabs his dry clothes as well.

"You can change down in the cabin. There's a fully functioning shower as well if you feel like getting under some hot water to warm yourself up again," he says, and I make a mistake in turning back to look at him.

He's just as wet as I am, obviously. Water drips down his body, his chest and his thighs while he holds his dry clothes and shoes in front of him, covering his soaked briefs from my view. Maybe he's just as nervous as I am about his underwear being see-through?

"Thanks," I murmur shyly, shivering despite the mild warmth of the sun. I can feel my teeth beginning to chatter. "A warm shower would be great." As I turn away to get towards the cabin, I try not to stress too much over the fact that he can probably see my bottom through the underwear I'm wearing. Once I get to the door, I head inside the cabin, my wet feet making foot trail marks on the carpet as I head towards the shower.

The shower is heavenly and I don't know how long I stand beneath the steaming, hot spray for, warming my skin and my bones back to life. He even has shampoo and conditioner bottles in the shower, so I use them, lathering up my hair, getting the sea water smell out of it.

And then I hear his voice, in the very same room.

"Anastasia?"

I gasp in embarrassment, covering my breasts with my arms while squeezing my thighs tight to hopefully hide my privates, my heart pounding. "Um, yeah?"

"I'm just grabbing your wet clothes, OK?" What? I struggle to understand what he means while trying to blink the water out of my eyes. "I thought I'd hang them outside. With the wind and the sun the way it's going, our clothes should be dry very soon." Just like that, it makes sense.

"Oh, OK. Thanks."

I don't hear him leave the bathroom, but he doesn't say anything else. Swooshing the water out of my eyes with my palm, I peek, realizing he's left the room anyway. He's already taken my wet bra and underwear.

Finding a fluffy towel, I pat myself dry while trying to comb out my wet hair with my fingers. Wrapping the towel around myself, I pad barefooted out of the cabin bathroom, finding Christian near the bed in the other room. He must have already removed and taken off his own wet briefs to hang them out in the sun as well, because I notice he has a towel tightly wrapped around his waist, his hair still damp.

My eyes drift to the neatly made bed that he's standing next to. Again, I can't help wondering if he's slept with a woman in here. Not that it's any of my business, of course.

"Um, the showers free if you want a turn," I tell him, forcing myself not to look anywhere else but straight into his eyes. He's here, in the same room as me, just in a towel like I am? We're practically naked, in the same room! How can I act normal when knowing that?

I imagine telling Kate what my weekend has entailed so far. _Oh, you know, your father just took me out for a wonderful day on The Grace where we kissed and had lunch. Oh, and then we stripped down to have a swim in the water together. Then we were in the cabin naked except for towels covering our private parts!_

She'd totally freak out if she ever knew.

"I might do actually." He rubs his hands together, a shaky exhale leaving him. "I think I need warming up myself." I keep my eyes on the crease-less sheets of the bed as he moves past me.

Once I hear the bathroom door in the cabin close, I release a breath I hadn't known I was holding in. God, it's crazy hard. Being in close proximity to him, knowing he's no doubt naked completely beneath that towel, just as I am, it's... crazy. I fold my arms over my chest tightly, making sure the towel is snug around my chest as I move towards the bed, peering down at it. My heart is racing, and there's this... this weird feeling? It's a feeling I can't say I've felt before. Well, maybe when we were kissing on the boat but... this?

I feel a strange, heavy tenderness in my breasts, in the spot between my thighs for some reason. Almost a dull but pleasant ache. It's discomforting yet... nice as well, the feeling. I feel my bottom lip tingle again from what he did to it earlier while kissing me, sucking it with both of his lips, and I bring up my fingers, tracing it to soothe it with my thumb as I blink down at the bed heavily.

I hear the shower turn on in the bathroom as I sink down to sit on the edge of the bed.

I want him, it occurs to me as I trace my bottom lip over and over. I want this man in the way that a girl completely gives herself to a man. I want to have my 1st time with him. Desire. Is that what I'm feeling? Sexual desire? I'm not sure. But all I know is that... I want him. And being so close, naked with just towels on, so close yet so far away...

Imagine if I just walked into the bathroom and joined him. I could easily open the door, throw off my towel, and climb in the shower with him. Then we'd both be truly naked, and then... My stomach squirms at the thought of what could happen.

Could I actually be brave enough to do it? I was brave enough to suggest swimming even although we didn't have the proper spare clothes. I was brave enough to admit my feelings, to kissing him.

But could I actually be brave enough to go into the bathroom, strip out of the towel, and come onto him?

I know I wouldn't be brave enough, much as I wish I could be. I'm just not that sort of girl, and all my overthinking about it, it's too late.

I hear the shower water stop running in the bathroom and I know it's too late, my chance is gone. And he hasn't attempted to kiss me again. He hasn't attempted to kiss me again, or even touch me in anyway whatsoever. It's like he's keeping his distance. Maybe he doesn't even see me in that way? Maybe he wouldn't even want me in that way, as much as I want him?

It's rather scary to want someone in this way... the 1st time I ever have before, and then not to know where we stand. It's just all so confusing, and I don't know what to think?

I hear the bathroom door open, and my heart races even faster than what I thought was possible. What am I doing, just sitting here on the bed like this, naked except for a towel wrapped around me? What am I waiting for?

"You're not dressed in your dry clothes?" Christian's voice tears me out of my thoughts. I turn my head to look at him, my heart sinking. Oh.

He's put on his dry clothes from earlier; His jeans and his shirt, everything except from his shoes. His hair is damp from the shower. Of course, he wouldn't need to wait for his underwear to dry. He can just wear jeans and go without them. He's staring at me with his head slightly tilted to the side, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, um, I just thought I'd wait for my clothes to dry," I mutter awkwardly.

"Are you all right?" he asks softly, striding further into the room. He stops from the bed, a foot away from me.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I force a smile as I peer up at him. "Like I said, I'm just... waiting for my clothes to dry."

"No, your not." There's an edge to his voice as he moves closer, and then he sits beside me on the bed, eyeing me. I meet his gaze briefly, before glancing away quickly. "Call it a father's intuition, but... raising a daughter has sort of given me insight into reading whether someone's upset or not." When I meet his eyes again, I see he's smiling at me. Just like always, his smile wrecks havoc on me. "Is there something on your mind?"

I wasn't expecting this at all, for him to try push this. What am I even supposed to say?

"Thank you for today," I murmur instead anxiously, the safest thing to really say. I interlace my fingers together in my lap as I peer down at them.

"No, it was my pleasure. Thank _you_."

"Thank _me_?" Finally, I seem to snap out of whatever strange mood I'm having. I press my lips together, fighting back a smile, as I lift my eyes to him again, peering at him quizzically. "Why would you be thanking _me_?"

He takes a deep breath before returning the smile, his grey eyes alight with something in them. "Because you've made me remember what it's like."

"Remember what?" I whisper, confused.

"You've made me remember how to..." He shakes his head, like he's lost for how to describe it even. "How to... have fun, I suppose you could say."

 _He's thanking me for reminding him how to have fun?_

"It's been a long, long time for me," he admits, his voice gentle, barely just above a whisper. "Usually I'm so... focused with working or other things that I forget what it's like to actually be... careless for once and enjoy myself." He runs a hand slowly through his damp hair as he shakes his head, as if both surprised and amused by how much fun he's actually had with me. "Honestly, I haven't had a fun day like this in quite a while."

"Then I'm pleased it was fun for you," I murmur softly. His eyes alternate between looking at my lips, to my gaze, I notice. The look in his eyes, it's so soft, so gentle. He keeps rubbing his hands back and forth over the fabric of his jeans, like his palms are a little sweaty.

Sitting on the bed, close, I wish he'd lean over. I so wish he'd kiss me again like before.

"Jesus, Anastasia," he breathes unevenly, in a sort of breathless, vulnerable way that makes my heart stutter as his eyes drop to my mouth again.

He drops his eyes to his hands as a nervous sounding chuckle escapes him, and then he's covering a hand over them, rubbing his eyelids and around his forehead like he's frustrated or conflicted or something. I don't understand his reaction or what's going on at all.

"What are you doing to me?" he mutters a second later, hand still covering around his forehead, his eyes clenched closed from what I can see of him. I hear him exhale heavily through his mouth, his head moving side to side a little. "You've certainly taken me back."

"Taken you back?" What? I don't understand. "Where?"

He chuckles again as he finally lifts his head, meeting my gaze. "Back in time." I shake my head at him with wide-eyes to show I still don't understand quite what he's meaning. "To high school," he elaborates, his eyes softening as they roam my face slowly. "To being that... boy again. That... awkwardly smitten boy who didn't know what the hell he was doing." Reaching over with his hand, he gently pushes a wayward curl of my hair back behind my ear, my heart erratic and loud in my ears. "So yes, thank you." He runs the tip of his thumb down past my ear, over my cheekbone, my chin. " _That's_ why I'm thanking you."

"How come you haven't kissed me again?" It comes out of my mouth needfully without my control. Tactless and desperate, and probably idiotic but right now I just don't care. At least it's come out of my mouth somehow.

His thumb stills from its stroking on my chin. I know I've surprised him. I see it in the way his eyes widen, in the way his shoulders tense. Especially in the way he breathes in a sharp, unsteady intake of breath. "Is that what you want, Anastasia?" he asks, his tone apprehensive. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," I admit breathlessly, forcing to keep my eyes on his, although everything is screaming within me to shy away out of nerves. "More than anything." I lick my lips, moistening them with my tongue as his eyes focus on my mouth intently. "And... _more_."

I've made up my mind. Really, I think it's something I've wanted for a long time, ever since I started feeling my crush and admiration go deeper and deeper for this man. I just want him, and I want him to have all of me. Just him.

"More?"

To hell with it. If I don't get it over with now, I know I'll never be able to. Now's the most perfect time as any. We're alone, on his boat, sitting together on the bed. Now's the best time.

"My birthday's coming up in a few weeks. I'll be 18, and soon... soon I'll be finishing high school and I'll be off to college..." It comes out of my mouth in a high-pitched, nervous rush. "I'll probably be staying in a dorm with Kate or something, miles away, and I... I want to have this chance before it gets too late and I know that I..." I breathe in deeply through my nose, "I know that I'll never want it as much as I want it with you." I'm not even sure I'm making any sense to him. "I just... we're alone right now and I... I think it's the perfect time and this doesn't have to be anything more than what it is if you don't want it to be?"

Reaching up, I clasp my hand around his wrist gently, holding it in place, keeping his hand touching me.

"This is what I really want, and... and I know it would be the perfect early birthday gift for me, something to... to remember for the rest of my life. And you _know_ me, you _know_ that you can trust me. I-I would never, _ever_ say a word to Kate."

I pause, sucking in a deep breath as I try to read him, to analyse his feelings on my request. He's quiet, sitting there, still, listening to me, his expression difficult to figure out. I can't tell if he's rejecting me or if he's going to go along with me at all.

"I guess what I'm saying is ultimately that I want you to, um, make love to me," I get out finally, cutting it short and simple, anxious over his reaction.

But I've gotten it out into the open now. And nothing can erase the fact that I've finally admitted to it.

SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO WRITE ANOTHER CHAPTER! SO ANXIOUS ABOUT THIS ONE, I HAVE A FEELING ITS TERRIBLE. AFTER THIS THERE WILL BE TIME JUMPS, ETC. PLEASE GO EASY ON ME, I FEEL SO ANXIOUS


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

IN TOO DEEP

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

He still doesn't say anything in response to what I've said- even after what feels like ten minutes have passed us by. I sit there, on the bed in the cabin on his boat, squirming uncomfortably as he just stares at me, frozen at my words, his mouth agape.

I'm not even sure where my sudden confidence has come from to ask him this, especially out loud. But I suppose I've sort of been wishing I could say it out loud for quite a while now, I've been wondering and imagining what it would be like to actually take it deeper, to actually make it to the next level with him.

I stare down at my hands for a moment, then peek up at him again. This time he isn't looking at me. He stares at something in the cabin, though he looks paler than usual. He brings up both hands, running the pair of them through his hair while giving his head a little shake. Then as he finally turns his gray gaze onto me again, he at last says something in response. "Anastasia, you're..." He begins, then shakes his head again, a short chuckle escaping him. "You are so sweet and beautiful," he continues softly after a moment, his eyes holding mine.

I hear an amount of both hesitance and tenderness in his voice- I think I know what it means. I begin to get the feeling that he is attempting to let me down easy.

"I'm flattered that you say you want me to make love to you, that you even... _like me_ that much, but..." He stops again with a low groan. "I don't mean to sound in anyway patronizing or rude but... you don't really want to experience your first time- _this_ \- with someone far older, do you? Assuming this would be your 1st time, of course?"

I don't know why he assumes it would matter or not, this being my 1st time. All I know is that I have never felt more confident or certain in the fact that I want him. I want so badly to experience this with him. "Yeah, I haven't, um, had sex before," I admit quietly, heat coming across my face. "So yes, you would be right in assuming this would be my 1st time. I'm, um, a virgin."

I peek up at his face again nervously, expecting him to laugh or make fun of me or something. I don't know why I'm worried that he would make fun of me due to my inexperience; In all the times I have spent around and spoken to Christian, he truly doesn't seem the type of man at all that would purposefully and maliciously make fun of someone.

"Well, see. That's what I thought." He smiles at me in a sort of gentle, kind way. My heart hammers when he brings up his hand to gently tuck another loose stray strand of wet hair back behind my ear. "Usually for both men and women, the 1st time is always something... special, something always remembered." He strokes my earlobe with the tip of his thumb. "You want to remember your 1st time as something good and positive; Something that you... shared with someone that you truly loved and trusted, someone that you were in a healthy and loving relationship with."

I bite my lip in defeat as his words slowly sink in, my shoulders sagging. _Oh. So this is his way of trying to let me down gently?_

"It's not that I don't like you or that I don't... enjoy being around you, Anastasia. Because I do. I enjoy being around you and talking to you. I've enjoyed taking you out today on The Grace and eating lunch with you and diving into the water for a swim. I enjoy listening to Frank with you and dancing together like we did that night."

"But?" I whisper apprehensively, knowing it's coming.

"But... as I said, I respect and care for you too much," he continues. "You deserve... someone your age. You deserve a 1st time with someone your age, someone that you'll eventually meet either in college or wherever your life leads you, and he'll be more... suitable for you. I wouldn't want to rob you of the chance to have the memories of your 1st time with someone else."

He thinks he's too old for me? That he'll even be robbing me of the chance of having memories of a 1st time with someone else?

While I feel like cowering in embarrassment at putting myself on the line only to be shot down, I think I can understand in some ways. Speaking with him, learning how he views himself. That date he'd gone on with that Gia woman and how he'd said he has been with his ex since school, that she were the only and 1st woman he was with. I think he's more so afraid of being hurt again. He's afraid of putting himself out there, of opening his heart up to the idea of being with someone again. Obviously his divorce has effected him hugely in some ways I can't even begin to imagine, yet at the same time, I sort of can.

When my father died although I was young at the time, I know it's effected my Mom, even if she hasn't let on about it or told that to me. In some ways, I know my Mom is lonely and that's probably why she always likes to keep busy, either with her work or with meeting new people. She's lonely and she hates being alone and I don't think she's ever truly gotten over my dad passing away. I guess it can effect people so differently- loss, even if my Mom's loss is different and more permanent than his was with his ex wife.

"I don't really believe that's it," I murmur thoughtfully after a moment.

His hand stills from brushing the hair out of my face. "You don't believe what?"

"What you say, about how it's mainly because you don't want to rob me of experiencing my 1st time, that I should experience it with someone more my own age. I think it's mainly because you're scared and not so much about any of those reasons at all."

"I'm scared?" he repeats slowly beneath his breath.

"Yes. I think you are mainly scared to let someone else in, to get... closer to someone after what happened before." I'm not sure if he'll be mad at me for saying this, but I try to pick my words carefully just in case. "I know you've been hurt before. Obviously you have with... your previous marriage. I think in some ways you even blame yourself for how it ended."

He blinks at me, his eyes brightening with something resembling awe, I think. Maybe awe? Or shock? "You're right, I do," he admits. "I do blame myself because I know I was at fault. I wasn't... there as much as I should have been. I worked too much, I probably didn't... pay as much attention as I should have."

"But it takes 2 people. You can't just be the one all at fault here."

"Jesus, Anastasia." He laughs spine-tinglingly at my words unexpectedly, surprising me as he glances away from me again for a moment. "You're frightening me," he murmurs in an unnerved tone.

"I frighten you?" I don't know whether to laugh and take it as a joke or not. But then Christian turns and meets my gaze again, his eyes shining with soft humor as he tries to press his lips together to stop himself from smiling. "How can I frighten you? Why am I frightening you right now?"

"Because you're so..." He shakes his head again with a short sigh. "You're so... _perceptive_. I keep referring to you as perceptive and it's true. You _are_." He bites down on his bottom lip with his front teeth thoughtfully. "Especially for your age."

"Sorry," I whisper, yet I can't help smiling widely. I like that he calls me that; Perceptive. It feels like a huge compliment to me.

"Don't apologize." He laughs again quickly. "It's just that it takes some time to get used to." I watch him side-on as he slowly rakes his fingers through his hair again, his expression deadly serious and contemplative. I have no idea what he is thinking about or if he's even going to follow through with my request, but I notice him stare at me intently, as if he's wondering deeply about something. "So you really want me to?" he asks quietly in a gentle voice, his head cocked to the side. "You really want me to make love to you?"

I feel that need to squirm again beneath his gaze, my cheeks feeling boiling hot. "I do, yes," I confess breathlessly. "But haven't I made that obvious with all of what I've just said to you? Even earlier while steering the boat as well?"

I try to seem brave and confident as I force myself to stare at nothing else but him, our eyes holding each others. Everything within me is screaming to glance away out of sheer nerves and embarrassment, but I try to force myself not to. Obviously I need to make this clear on him yet again on how serious and sure I am. And I _am_ serious and sure.

I notice out of the corner of my eye his lips parting slightly. My eyes drop down to his mouth at their own accord as he slowly licks around his bottom lip, moistening it with his tongue. I'm still dying for him to finally kiss me again. As I return my eyes to his, I see that his eyes have moved down to my own mouth himself. We've been doing the same thing, eyeing each others mouths. I wonder if he's wanting to kiss me again as well.

As Christian returns his own eyes to mine, I hear him swallow loudly, his throat muscles twitching."If I were to say yes, would you allow me to do it my way?" he murmurs, his voice only just audible and above a whisper.

 _If he were to say yes.._. My heart accelerates in both excitement and trepidation at the possibility. "What? Your way?" I shake my head with a frown, I don't understand what he means by that.

"Can you give me 2 minutes?"

2 minutes? Why would he need two minutes? "Why 2 minutes?" I ask, my mouth dry.

"Just 2 minutes. And close your eyes." I watch as he stands from the bed, not completely believing him. Is this truly happening or is he just... messing with me? "Close your eyes," he warns again softly. Sitting up straighter on the mattress, I do.

I shut my eyes while listening carefully. I have no idea what he's going to do, but all I know is that I'm grinning widely. I'm smiling so hard it hurts. I clasp my hands together in my lap while trying to curb their exited shaking. My entire body feels like it's shaking uncontrollably, but not out of fear. Mainly excitement. Excitement and hope that this is truly going to happen.

I listen carefully, trying to judge what he's doing with my ears. All I can seem to hear is him moving around. I hear him switch something on, pressing buttons on something. The boat is unsteady, I can feel it swaying gently back and forth in the water- more noticeable now that my eyes are closed.

Then it starts and I burst out laughing while still keeping my eyes clenched closed. I feel a burst of heat gush all over me as his voice begins to flow out around me. Frank. He's playing a Frank Sinatra song on his boat, of all places. I recognize the song immediately as my favorite and his favorite too. I've Got You Under My Skin.

"OK, you can open your eyes now," he murmurs over the music.

I breathe in deeply through my nose, bracing myself, before slowly opening them like he says. My heart jolts in my chest as I find him standing above me, his expression unreadable as Frank continues to play with the song. Something so simple, yet so special.

My smile is still painfully in place as I lift my eyebrows up at him. "Frank?" I manage in a breathy, soft voice.

"I bring him with me everywhere I go."

"Good idea." Reaching down, he grabs my hand and guides me to my feet. I'm still only wearing a fluffy white towel wrapped around me, virtually naked everywhere else and bare-footed with my hair still damp from the shower like his is, yet I find I can hardly bring myself to care. Nothing else matters; Not even my own insecurity, my own nerves.

Stepping behind me, he pulls me into his arms, surprising me. He slips one arm around my waist, one large masculine hand gliding to rest at the center of my navel above the moist fabric of the towel, his long fingers spread out. His chest and the entire length of him is flush against my back as he holds his other arm above my shoulder. He reaches up and uses his hand to touch the side of my jaw with his fingertips, stroking and brushing them carefully around my chin and jawline area. Now I can't see his face and he can't seem mine, which relieves me considering the grin I'm wearing is probably pathetically overexcited and joyful due to the fact that not only he seems to be going along with my wishes, but also that he's holding me strongly in his arms, up against him.

As I've Got You Under My Skin goes deeper into the chorus, he begins swaying me gently so that the pair of us are moving to the music, swaying, rocking. He starts rubbing around my stomach through the towel as we continue to move and I shut my eyes again, my smile still permanently in place as I reach down to cover my own hand over his.

"Is this too cheesy?" I hear him eventually murmur against my earlobe, his warm breaths tickling me.

I laugh softly through Frank's crooning voice as I shake my head gently. "No, this isn't in anyway cheesy at all," I say back, my voice unrecognizable. I sound weirdly hoarse and winded. "It's perfect." And it's true; I actually do find it to be perfect. There's something sensual about the way he holds me to him, the way he moves us both to Frank's music.

I feel my own breathing go shallow as I feel him use the tip of his nose. He strokes around my earlobe with it, above my temples. An uncontrollable shiver passes through me. I hope it isn't too noticeable to him how shaky I am.

Using my other free hand, I reach behind him blindly, my fingers finding and groping a fistful of the material at the back of his shirt. As I do so and my head turns slowly sideways, it's then that I finally feel him. Though my eyes are still closed as I smile and sway to the music in his arms, I become aware of him more than anything else in the entire world as Christian leans down to press his mouth into mine.

I still can't believe this is happening, it really feels so surreal and almost dream-like. But I force myself to accept it as reality as I turn in his arms slightly as much as I'm able to, twisting my neck upwards to kiss him back. At 1st, our kisses are closed-mouthed and gentle, slow pecks at each others lips. And then soon, getting more wrapped up into it, I begin to forget about Frank Sinatra and the music in the background the more engrossed I am into our kiss.

Sliding to remove his hand off my stomach on the towel, he steps forwards completely in front of me, our lips beginning to move at a faster, more furious rate. He brings both hands up to my face, cradling it gentle, as I lean closer against him, deepening our kiss. He does that thing again like he did earlier on the boat; Something I find I really like, in capturing my bottom lip in between each of his lips.

He plucks at my bottom lip with his top and bottom ones, sucking and creating a delicious tender-tingling feeling through my bottom lip. I hear myself make a low moan as he eventually releases it, only to kiss me again. I reach up to run my fingers over his cheeks, then eventually, above his forehead, into his hair. Then he grips my hips with both hands and slowly pulls me back, pulling away from our kiss, his breathing harsh and unsteady.

"And you're sure you still want this with me?" he asks through both of our too loud breathing.

I nod once, my voice having somehow left me. He's still dressed in his clothes and I find I don't want that. I want to see him shirtless again, like all the other times I've seen him shirtless around me when I'd stay over with Kate for the weekend.

"Can I take off your shirt?" I ask in a drained whisper.

He nods, licking his lips, and he watches me. I reach up, taking the bottom of his polo-shirt with my hands, running them up his bare warm skin beneath it. His fingers brush and rub against my bare forearms before he lifts his arms up completely in the air, allowing me to help removing his shirt. I grab the material, yanking it up and over his head, then I let it fall carelessly at our feet as I stare at his toned chest, admiring him.

He may be in his 30's and a father, but so what? It definitely doesn't show in his body. It's so obvious how much he takes care of himself, which I know he does, with his games of golf and his jogging of a morning.

I'm just about to run my hands up his chest when he beats me to it. Before I can even manage to, a desperate and impatient sounding hiss escapes through his clenched teeth unsteadily. And then grabbing my forearms, he's slowly guiding me backwards towards the bed in the cabin.

He pushes me down and the instance I fall back against the comfortable spongy mattress, he's immediately falling with me, landing on top of me with both legs beside mine, his elbows supporting him upright above my shoulders so he doesn't lean onto me with his weight too much.

I meet his gaze, startled by the unfamiliarity in his expression- how warm his gray eyes are, how loud he's breathing through his parted lips- before he bends down towards my chest, at the bit around my neck that's still exposed in the damp towel wrapped around me. He begins kissing around my neck and down my throat, gliding his lips slowly to my collarbone and back up again. I moan uncontrollably as I reach up, grabbing and touching his hair with my hands as he resumes kissing around my throat, his lips hot.

I've never known anything could feel this good before. He's on top of me, on the bed in the cabin of The Grace, kissing around my throat and chest as Frank continues playing with his music. As he disappears and stops kissing around my chest suddenly, I get up on my elbows quickly to see where he's gone and what he is up to, panting and full of need.

He nuzzles his head and his nose into the damp towel still wrapped around my body as he sinks lower and lower down the mattress and my body with his knees.

Nuzzling the side of his face around the towel at my legs, he finally lifts his head to gaze up at me, his hair unkempt and messy from the way I've grabbed at it. "Can I take this thing off?" he asks, his voice unlike I've heard it before in all the times we've spoken to each other. It's low, desperate and strained with need.

"The... the towel, you mean?"

"Yeah." Suddenly, my nerves return at the thought. I'm naked completely beneath it. I haven't shown anyone my body before. "I want to see you. All of you."

Although still a little embarrassed and shy, I try not to let it show or make too much of a big deal of it. I lean up to unwrap the towel slowly, peeling it off my body, exposing myself completely to him. It's hard to look at his face as he kneels up near my feet on his knees. I notice his eyes roam slowly down every part of my body, truly taking it in; My exposed breasts, my stomach and hips. Then... down there. I have to force myself not to follow through on the impulse to cover myself up as I squirm beneath his gaze.

The look that comes across his face as he scrutinizes every part of me that's bared to him, it's... different. But in a good way; A way that I've never had somebody look at me before. He reminds me almost of a dehydrated man in a desert discovering water for the 1st time in days. His eyes glisten intensely with what seems to me appreciation as a shaky exhale escapes his mouth.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he murmurs as he meets my eyes. I feel my cheeks glow with a blush. "Everything about you is." The sincerity in his voice, his expression, it takes my breath away. "Your body. Your face. Your big... smile."

"No one's ever called me beautiful before."

"Well, you _are_. And they _should_."

I still can't help the shy impulse to hide myself away from him again.

He must notice it, because he adds under his breath, "There's no need to be shy. You have nothing to be nervous about."

"I-I don't know," I murmur with a shrug.

"You don't." His eyes suddenly soften and I think he seems apprehensive for some reason as he stares up at me, searching. "You are sure you still want this?" he asks gently. It's like he's worried I'll suddenly change my mind or something. But it's nice to know he wants me to be completely sure.

"I'm sure. I'm definitely sure, Christian."

"Then that's good to know." He smiles at me, infecting me with those spine-tingling feelings again as he always does whenever he simply smiles or laughs. He leans down suddenly, surprising me. He presses a kiss to my right kneecap, then the other. I squirm again uncontrollably. "If at any time you don't want to, just tell me, Anastasia. I won't mind."

"Are you hoping I'll change my mind?"

"I just want you to be sure. I don't... want you regretting this."

"I won't," I assure him.

Satisfied in my assurance, he begins to move again, kissing my exposed towel-less body in various places. My head is spinning dizzily when he assaults me with kisses, paying attention to every single part of me, not neglecting any.

I'd seen on a few movies how this goes; how the guy is fast and all about his pleasure, but surprisingly Christian seems to take it slow, as if he's _all about my_ pleasure. He pays my skin a very good amount of attention, lathering it with kisses and hand caresses that send me squirming, my head tossing back at some rather ticklish places.

Then as he slowly works his way up my chest, he reaches my exposed pair of breasts with his head. I've always felt particularly self-conscious about my breasts, feeling they have grown more than I would have liked. But to my relief, he seems to like them.

"You're beautiful," he says again with a flattering amount of sincerity, and then he dips his head, pressing a kiss to each of my nipples. I squirm, feeling them harden strangely at the sensation of his warm lips kissing them.

He makes my body feel loved and good in a way I never expected. And after we spend a few more minutes kissing, it sinks into my brain again that this is actually happening. As he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, I see he has an erection. I have to shut my eyes as I swallow out of nerves. I've heard the 1st time can be painful so I'm not sure what to expect. But even then, he's completely gentle with me in making it as painless as possible.

"Is this going to hurt?" I breathe out nervously as he sinks around me, his elbows supporting himself upright so he isn't completely squishing me. He covers me, naked as I am, his skin warm and coarser beneath mine.

"I've heard that the 1st time can be painful for the woman. It's been... a long time, but I know that it can be uncomfortable." Finding strength to do it, I reopen my eyes, lifting my gaze to meet his from where he is above me. He keeps himself still above me on his elbows, his knees over mine, larger feet next to mine.

"I'm nervous," I point out, though something tells me he probably can already see that plainly written all over my face as he peers down at me.

"I know. Just try to relax, OK?" His voice is concerned, yet soothing on me. "I would never deliberately hurt you."

"I know you wouldn't. I-I know that isn't the type of person that you are."

"Good. Then just breathe, OK?" Although his words are reassuring, I still can't help but feel nervous as I peer up into his eyes. Even without looking below us, I know that he's bracing himself and preparing for the moment he pushes inside me with the head of his erection. He's just waiting for the right moment, I guess.

Lifting a hand, he plays with a strand of my hair, gently curling it and pushing it away from my forehead. Then as he leans down, kissing me softly, I feel it without warning. I feel a weird slight pinching sensation as he begins to ease into me, very gently and slowly. I can only moan in relief against his mouth that he's taking it easy and being considerate and cautious enough to be extra gentle.

I make a face against his lips at the strange, full sensation of Christian filling me. Then he makes a deep, gruff noise of his own- something that makes me feel as though I've suddenly been doused with scorching hot water- as he slowly leans back, removing his mouth from mine. There's pleasure written all over his face, his eyes gleaming in appreciation at the feeling as he peers down at me, his breathing loud.

"I've heard that's somewhat the hardest part of it. Are you feeling OK?" His voice is hoarse. "Just let me know when you're ready."

"I-I think so." Reaching up, I grip onto his shoulders tightly, squeezing with my fingers for something to hold onto. "I'm ready." Then he moves.

At 1st, it's rather uncomfortable and painful, even if he is easing himself in and out of me very delicately and slowly so as not to hurt me too much. And then, along with the pain, something else starts to take off; A different, exhilarating new feeling. Lifting up to grab the back of his neck with my hand, I pull him down, desperately needing his kisses.

As he starts moving to a more regular pace, our lips begin to drown each other's cries and panting out as we kiss. Sex and having a man inside you, I discover, is such an interesting, unique experience. It's unlike anything I could have ever fantasized. As Christian shifts slightly on the bed while opening his mouth, kissing me deeper while using his tongue, it grows even more and more alive and intense; that feeling inside me.

Afterwards, after we both orgasm, I feel like all I can do is simply lie there, amazed and overwhelmed all at once. It was... incredible. Indescribable. I'm still panting while desperately trying to settle my breathing as Christian remains inside me for a long moment, exhausted himself, the both of us covered with a sheen of sweat. He holds his mouth to my forehead as he recoups himself, a hand tangled in my hair as Frank continues singing in the background endlessly.

And then I have to laugh and grin to myself, dazed and dizzy with happiness. My 1st time. My 1st time with Christian, an older man; The man I've been crushing on endlessly since Kate 1st invited me over to meet him. I try to ignore the little part where he's my best friend's father and how he's in his middle 30's.

Despite those few glaring ominous pieces, I feel overjoyed. I couldn't have imagined a better 1st time.

It's probably selfish and if it were ever to be brought to the surface, I know it would probably wreck my friendship with Kate forever. But I would never be the one to tell her if I could help it.

* * *

Afterwards, I get dressed into my now-dry bra and underwear while Christian exits the cabin to start the motor of The Grace again to get us back safely to shore and into the marina. I cannot help smiling to myself as I get changed back into my clothes; There's this permanent light-headed joy there, a relaxed rubbery feeling in my bones and joints.

Checking myself in the reflection in the bathroom mirror, I try to fix up and neaten my hair, noticing I have a strange post-coital glow about me. Even now, I can't believe what happened between us barely half an hour ago in bed in the cabin.

It had definitely been above and beyond my expectations and I feel so happy. I just hadn't thought Christian would have went along with my request.

Finding one of the spare jackets he keeps on the boat in case it's cold out and the wind has picked up, I slide my arms into the sleeves and zip it up snugly before heading back out onto the deck.

My cheeks redden as I find Christian back in one of his obviously natural elements, manning the boat at the wheel, steering it along effortlessly. He looks calm and relaxed in a way I haven't seen him look before, his hair windswept in the breeze, his stance looser; I wonder if it's because of what we've just done together. Obviously it is and it's had an extra positive effect on him.

My hair whips and lashes out around my face in the breeze as I start approaching where he is at the wheel, coming from behind. I manage to sneak up behind him, catching him off-guard as he turns to suddenly find me standing right at his side near the wheel.

I hear him gasp as he covers a hand over his chest, feigning fear, I think. "Jesus. You almost gave me a heart attack," he mutters breathlessly over the wind. "I hadn't even noticed you were there?"

"Sorry." But then he smiles so I think I'm forgiven. I feel myself flush as I smile back at him, leaning close as he steers the boat.

All I can seem to think about now whenever I so much as look at his face or see him smile, is what it had felt like while he was inside me, and how wonderful the orgasm had felt. How he'd pressed his mouth to every single piece of my skin, leaving no part of my body neglected and wanting. The man is incredibly good at knowing how to make a girl feel rather cherished and special. Then again, he's probably had years of experience so he probably would have to know how.

"You cold?" he asks near my ear and when I glance his way again, I see his gray eyes roam down the jacket of his that I'm wearing very deliberately and pointedly.

"Yeah, I am a little. Thank God that you have spare jackets in there. I feel nice and toasty warm now."

"You look it, too," he says in reply, his mouth twitching. "Adorably toasty warm."

I feel an urge to kiss him as he stares at me and runs his eyes over my face and the jacket again. Instinctively and assuming it's OK after we've done what we did, I move closer, reaching up with my hand to touch his cheek. Immediately and hurting me, he moves away and turns his gaze forward out towards the sea instead, avoiding me before I can even get the chance to kiss him again.

I stare at his face in confusion as he peers ahead; His eyes squinted in the breeze, fingers wrapped around the wheel and gripping it tight. I don't understand his mood or his reaction towards me going to kiss him at all. What? Now that we've made the next step, he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore? He doesn't want to kiss or touch me anymore?

SO SORRY FOR TAKING LONG, I'VE BEEN BUSY WITH WORKING OVERTIME AND HAVEN'T HAD TIME TO WRITE SO HAVE HAD TO WRITE THIS IN INSTALLMENTS. THIS IS THE BIG NERVE-WRACKING CHAPTER FOR ME TO WRITE SO I DO HOPE IT ISN'T HORRIBLY WRITTEN. p.S SORRY IF IT HAS FALLEN FLAT AS SOME HAVE STATED I HAVENT WRITTEN A SEX SCENE BEFORE. CHRISTIAN WILL EXPLAIN His REACTION NEXT CHAPTER


	18. Chapter 18

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 18

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

The drive home is every bit as silent and awkward as I had feared it would be.

I feel torn and split between 2 emotional extremes as I drive, cautiously watching forward ahead of the road while Ana sits beside me in the passenger's seat. I honestly wasn't expecting us to get to this point; I never expected it to happen, yet it did.

1 part of me feels in a permanent state of shock and confusion while the other, the secret side of me that I find myself terrified to show and bring to the surface, it's...ecstatic, incredibly happy.

I honestly hadn't taken her out on The Grace for this. It hadn't been my intention for it to go the way it did, to get as far as it even did. Yet it did and there she was; There she was, asking it of me. Telling me that she was 17, 18 soon, and that she wanted to experience her 1st time with me of all people.

I've sensed for a while now that she has something of a little crush on me. I just never expected us to go this far, that I would even allow it to go as far as it did. But I had and ultimately, I can't take it back. I don't have the power within me to take it back and, if I were completely honest here, I probably wouldn't want to take it back even if I could.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Anastasia look at me. Then helping herself, she reaches forward to turn up the nozzle on the stereo so Eva Cassidy's music plays between us even louder. I'm glad that she does decide to turn the music up, because this silence, this... awkwardness shared between us, it's destroying me.

I can feel myself perspiring between my shirt, practically sweating bullets as I let myself peer into her direction. She meets my gaze with her clear blue eyes and I force myself to smile at her before having to break the eye-contact between us again.

Sighing loudly through Eva's melodic voice, I move a hand from the steering wheel to rake it through my hair. She clearly expects something of me; For me to say something, something that indirectly hints to what occurred between us in The Grace roughly half an hour ago. Yet I find myself unsure what to say or how to even begin to speak about it.

Do I thank her for the amazing opportunity? Do I even express my humble gratitude that she- this beautiful, gorgeous thing- felt apparently attracted to me enough to grant me the opportunity of being her 1st? My eyes drift to her again as she stares outside the window, looking at the view around us pensively. She plays with her hands in her lap. Frankly I'm not sure whether to get down on my knees to her feet and worship her.

Instead I turn my eyes forward to the road again. I don't want to seem overeager to put her off and make her feel uncomfortable in anyway, of course. And I don't want to seem overly pleased in case she starts fearing I've assumed that this means something more, that I... expect more from her.

I know things were far different back when I was her age, whereas nowadays I see that sex is treated as more casual and less meaningful.

I overhear a lot of things, thanks to having a young teenage daughter of a different generation; Hook-ups and flings are something that happen all the time. Sex doesn't mean that the 2 people involved will ultimately end up having a loving committed relationship with each other.

So what if it's the same with Ana- her being from this generation and having far different ideas about sex or relationships than I do?

I just don't want to act too enthusiastic about it, out of fear that she'll end up feeling pressured and she'd think I was implying that I expected something more from her than what it probably only was for her.

What had she told me it was? Something similar to an early birthday gift for her; A mere new experience, something to remember, a memory to add to the new ones she'll eventually have once she begins her new life at college

My 1st time was with my wife, where it was her 1st time as well. We both were inexperienced and went through it all together; All that vulnerability and uncertainty.

It's a sensitive and complex thing; something I'm unsure of how to approach. But then I see out of the corner of my eye Anastasia reach over to turn the music down slightly. And then she finally speaks.

"Thank you for today," she says, and I turn my head to look at her while scratching my chin.

I can't tell whether she's thanking me for the trip out on The Grace, the lunch and the swim, or whether she's simply... thanking me for what we actually did together and the experience we had given each other.

"As I said before, it was my pleasure." I can't be sure which it is, so I add uncertainly beneath my breath, "I really enjoyed it myself."

And I honestly had; Both, spending the day with her on the boat eating lunch, talking, swimming. And the whole other side of it also. When I meet her blue eyes with another smile, I realize I can't quite look at her in the same way that I did before.

Instinctively rather than seeing her beautiful infectious big smile, her perceptiveness and her gorgeous bright eyes, I start to see, appreciate and remember... other things automatically as well. Like how soft, smooth, and flawless every part of her ivory skin was while I had touched and kissed her. Even the parts you'd expect to be rather rough, like her elbows and her knees, they had been incredibly smooth as well. How radiant and youthful she was.

How... receptive to my touch and my mouth she was. The little peaks of her nipples, how they had hardened and stiffened beneath my lips as I kissed each one of them. Now as I look at her, I don't just see all those admirable qualities about her, such as her curiosity for the music I like, her interest and her perceptiveness. But I see the larger picture as well; How she looks, how she feels. And it's all beautiful.

And she's my daughter's friend, I crossed that one solid fatal line, and it's all so fucked up. And I'm probably the biggest scumbag on earth for agreeing to what I did when I ought to have known better.

I know nothing more can ever come out of this and I wouldn't expect it to. It wouldn't be fair for her. She's young and she's got her whole life ahead of her to live. She has so many amazing opportunities and experiences in store for her. I don't expect this to be anything more than what she no doubt meant it as.

"Me, too. I really enjoyed today too."

 _Did you really?_ I want to ask her out loud. _Are you sure that you did?_

I think I hear her mutter something to herself, only it's something so quiet it's barely audible. I turn to look at her again, arching my eyebrows in question.

"I just said that I..." She licks her lips slowly before glancing down at her hands, interlinking her fingers together. "I wasn't expecting this to be as... awkward as it is." Awkward is certainly a good way to put it. "You just feel really... cold to me."

 _Cold?_ My breath hitches in my throat at that word. _Cold. I feel cold to her?_ "How so?" I ask in confusion.

"I don't know. It's just you..." I notice she won't look at me. She keeps her head low, her eyes on nothing else but her fingers as she plays with them. "It sort of feels like you regret what happened. After."

I'm speechless for a good minute with not knowing what to say. I hadn't expected her to say that. Do I really seem as though I regret it to her? What we did? On second thought, I realize I can't really blame her for getting that suspicion. I had kept my distance afterwards on the boat, but not because I regretted it. I only simply wasn't sure what she wanted.

"I'm sorry that I made you feel like I regret it. I don't."

Finally, she turns her head to look at me, her eyes shining, dubious. "You don't regret it?" She sounds like she doesn't believe me.

"I really don't, Ana."

It appears I'll have to try make myself more convincing for her.

I try to hold her gaze to show her how truthful I'm being, only it's hard. She drops her gaze again to her hands while licking her lips, her tongue peeking through them. "Well, I _do_ regret the circumstances but... not what happened. Not what we actually did."

"The circumstances?"

"Yes, the circumstances. That you are..." I hesitate, glancing back to the road ahead of us quickly, making sure we are on the right track. "That you are my daughter's friend and that..." I trail off with a frustrated sigh, unsure how to voice it. "I honestly didn't mean to come across as cold to you. I just... I suppose I decided it would be easier for you if I _did_ keep my distance."

Her eyes light up with what seems curiosity as she turns her head to look at me, "Easier for me?"

"Well, you know..." Now I'm the one that actually has to fucking turn away and avoid looking at her. Awkward is definitely the fitting term for this, all right. "I just know that nowadays, that sort of thing means a lot more different than what it used to. I didn't want to make you feel... uncomfortable or as though I was expecting too much."

When I throw a look her way again quickly, I notice she's staring at me, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I don't think she quite understands what I mean.

Frankly I'm relieved now that she's finally began to speak up about it. I didn't want to be the 1 to have to in case she wanted to forget it and never bring it up ever again. "So, are you... all right?" I ask gently, hoping she gets the drift of what I'm asking. We hadn't specifically spoken about it before, in The Grace. But now that we are doing this and we are on the topic, I truly do want to know.

I think I see her cheeks spread with a glorious pinkness as she glanced down at her fingers again nervously. She looks like she's trying to hold in a shy smile; I can see it in the way she presses her lips tightly together, the left corner of them twitching.

"Um, I think so," she manages to say in a low, breathy voice. "I'm feeling pretty... good."

"And I didn't hurt you too much then?"

She blushes again as a short laugh escapes her at the knowledge of my true meaning. "You didn't. I mean, it didn't really..." She stops for a moment, closing her eyes. Then trying to appear dignified and no longer embarrassed, she straightens up in the seat, forcing herself to meet my gaze as her eyes reopen, "It didn't actually hurt as much as I'd always suspected it would, the 1st time. I mean, you..." She stops again while covering a hand over the side of her mouth. To stop herself from laughing again, I think. It's incredibly endearing, not to mention adorable of her. "You were very... _gentle_."

"So you, er, had a good time then?" I ask her, just to be sure. I mainly just want to make sure that she did.

She slips up, bursting out laughing. It's one of her infectious laughs as she covers her mouth with her hands, and I can't help laughing along with her, everything feeling better now and less.. stressful.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

"So you, er, had a good time then?" Christian asks, a nervous and uncertain edge still there in his voice.

I crack up laughing, my nerves taking over again. I have to say I'm so relieved that we are finally talking about this- and that he is. Just like that, he doesn't feel so distant or cold anymore, as if I'd done something wrong or it was like he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore.

Instantly the mood lightens up in the car, something I'm grateful for. And then he chuckles as well; one of those spine-tingling sounds that I like so much. It makes a horrible heat rush all over my skin as I try to stop myself from squirming.

"I did have a really good time." Even my stomach squirms as I look over and catch him trying not to smile himself. "Did, um, you?" Suddenly I'm concerned that he didn't have a good time himself.

"I did, though... I figure that was probably obvious," he murmurs.

"I was really nervous," I admit shyly. "You could probably tell how nervous I was."

"Not at all. You had nothing to be nervous about anyway."

Now that that awkward part of it is out of the way, we seem to fall into easier conversation. I discover he has a stack of CD's in the console of his car, and he lets me go through them while he continues driving.

"So you like The Rolling Stones too?" I murmur, eyeing the cover of one of their albums off. He has so many CD's, it's amazing.

"I do. They're not my favorite, because that spot is reserved to Frank, of course. But they are a favorite."

"Mine too," I agree breathlessly.

"I actually got to see them play live in concert once," Christian admits, and I feel my awe for this man increase tenfold.

"You did?" I gush with wide eyes. "You are so lucky then!"

"Yeah, I did. I believe this was about... 8 or 9 years ago." As always, I feel like I could listen to the man talk all day, about anything. He's just so interesting to me in so many ways. And incredibly gorgeous, too, of course. _Interesting and gorgeous and the man I just experienced my 1st time with..._ I shake my head while trying to focus on what he's telling me, overwhelmed. "They were incredible live."

"I bet they were. I hear Mick Jagger gets very enthusiastic?"

"Enthusiastic is definitely 1 good way to describe it." Then he's off, describing it to me in very vivid detail the atmosphere and how crowded it was in the building where he saw them play. I can't help hanging off his every word, noticing the way his gray eyes light up with enthusiasm over the topic as he uses his hand, gesturing to me. _Those same hands that were on my bare skin earlier..._ "The charisma rolling off him was incredible," he finishes, staring into my eyes.

"I'm so jealous that you got to see him and The Stones," I murmur.

"Well, don't worry. They're still around." He cocks his head slightly as he smiles at me in a soft, empathetic way. "Hopefully you'll get the same chance to see them live 1 day. And then you can see what I meant and you can tell me all about it."

"I would love that." I realize it's so easy, us talking about music and all of these other things. Being older, I suppose he's had more chance than I have to get around and truly experience things like seeing The Rolling Stones live concerts. I guess it comes with age and life experience. "Sometimes I truly feel like I was born in the wrong time and era," I continue, off on my own little rant. But it's true; I really do. "Like I love The Rolling Stones and now, thanks to you introducing him to me, Frank Sinatra. I love all of these classic bands whereas other music today, it just doesn't really appeal to me as much."

"Then you have better taste than Kate has," he says, then he winces. "No offense to her, of course. I just find it so hard to... expand her musical tastes. She just refuses to be expanded."

Conversation turns to other music, and then I notice he's not going the way to the house where he and Kate lives. I look around, noticing he's taking a different route.

"Aren't you going the wrong way?" I murmur suspiciously in confusion, eyeing him.

The glance he throws at me is what I can only describe as very secretive. There's something he's wanting to hide and keep secret from me. "You'll find out soon enough," he simply says evasively.

He takes a right turn, then sets the blinkers on, pulling up on the side of the road. I glance around the car while biting down on my lip, still unsure what his intentions are, my stomach in knots. Nothing looks familiar.

"Where are we?" I ask when he unbuckles and throws off his seat belt.

He just turns to look at me with a very secretive smile and a shrug. "As I said, you'll see soon enough." He grabs his wallet and opens his door. "Wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

I watch as he shuts the door, then he hurries off, disappearing down the corner of the street he parked in. What is he up to? I find out roughly 15 minutes later when he reappears around the corner carrying a plastic bag of something. He still looks weirdly suspicious as he opens the door on his side, a smile in place on his mouth.

"What do you have there?" I ask curiously, but then my curiosity is immediately killed the second he gets me to hold the plastic bag in my lap. The delicious smell of Chinese food assaults my senses as I peer at his face while he slams the door shut again. "Is that Chinese food I smell?" I tease, then I peer into the bag once I get his permission.

I'm actually right. It is Chinese food, still warm and freshly cooked in two takeaway containers. The smell is heavenly and my mouth waters.

"You said last night that Chinese food was 1 of your favorite smells," he explains with a chuckle while starting up the car.

I grin over at him as he pulls back out onto the road, my cheeks hurting. _I did say that and he remembered! He actually remembered me confessing that Chinese food was my favorite smell!_

"You remembered me telling you that," I whisper, surprised.

"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I remember?" Christian glances in my direction quickly with a shake of his head. "I may be old but I'm not that old yet that I forget things that someone tells me the night before." I know he's saying the last bit about being 'old' as mainly a joke but I still gasp in shock.

"I wasn't meaning to imply that I thought you wouldn't remember because you are older."

"I know that. I was just fooling around."

I breathe the delicious smell in again as he begins to drive us back to the house. Although we've already eaten lunch on his boat earlier, I find myself starting to become ravenous by the time he reaches the house and he slowly pulls us up into the driveway and garage. I think the smell has something to do with that though.

* * *

Later that night we end up sitting on the pine table and wooden chair setting on the balcony, eating the Chinese take-out Christian got from the takeaway shop earlier in white porcelain bowls each with forks- a little hint to me as him remembering it being my favorite smell in the whole entire world, I think.

We both have our chairs angled so that we can watch out into the street and at the amazing view from his and Kate's house. It's gotten darker, the sky filled with stars. It has turned out to be a really nice, mild night.

I can't get over how nice today has been. The boat ride out on The Grace, eating lunch with him. Then taking a quick swim and, _especially, all that other really nice_ love-making stuff. I can't really remember feeling this happy before. I certainly don't feel this happy and paid-attention to at home with my Mom.

I feel a hint of sadness too because I know tomorrow I'll have to be heading back home, seeing as Kate will be arriving back from her mother's. I can't exactly still be here with her father when she arrives back, can I?

"So why Chinese food exactly?" Christian asks, breaking me out of my silence as I eat a piece of watercress. "Why is Chinese food your favorite smell?"

I smile into my bowl as I chew slowly, thinking his very difficult question through. "I don't exactly have an answer to that," I admit. "I just have always loved the smell of Chinese food. I guess that makes me weird."

"It's not weird at all. Do you think your mother will come to your high school graduation?" The way he throws my Mom into this so quickly, it takes me by surprise.

"Um, I'm not sure if she'll come," I say quietly. But even as I say it, I know that isn't even entirely true. I already have an idea of what will be happening when the day comes to finally graduate high school; It is only another week away, my birthday being in a few days. I know she'll probably be too busy to come and that's something I've learned now to not get so personally upset about. I'm used to my Mom flaking out on me. "I'm not holding my breath though."

I glance up to find Christian staring at me thoughtfully as he chews. There's also a bit of concern there in his gray eyes as well, I think.

"My Mom has never made it her top priority to attend things to do with me," I add with a careless shrug. "It's always been that way. I think I've gotten used to it."

"Well, she should be there for her daughter."

I shrug again, not fussed either way. "She used to do it to me when I was younger as well. She'd either forget something I mentioned or she just wouldn't bother. I've learned not to let it upset me anymore." I glance up at the sky while pushing some noodles into my mouth. That's when I see it. I make a meaningful moaning noise as I lean over, grabbing Christian's attention quickly. A luminescent shooting star runs then fades across the sky into the distance. "Look up there!" I say, pointing. Only it's too late. "Damn, it's gone now."

"What was it?" Christian asks in confusion.

"A shooting star. It was really pretty, too."

"Better close your eyes then."

I turn to look at him in confusion, unsure whether he's making a joke or not. But then I discover he looks deadly serious as he peers up at the sky, watchful to see another one with his own eyes himself. "Why close my eyes?"

"They say that whenever you see a shooting star, you should always close your eyes and make a wish," he explains to me, swallowing a mouthful of his food.

"Make a wish? I've never heard that one before?"

"Well, now you have, Ana. Close them." Obeying even although it feels stupid, I clench my eyes shut with a smile. "Quick. Now make a wish."

I breathe in deeply through my nose, making my wish. My cheeks feel too warm and I feel ridiculously coy and stupid as I think it to myself in my mind. I know it's a silly wish.

When I slowly reopen my eyes and glance over at him, I see Christian's watching me very attentively as he picks up eating again, his eyes bright. "What did you wish for?" he asks softly, his voice curious.

"I can't tell you."

"Oh?" He seems offended but I can't tell if it's sincere or not. "And why can't you?"

"Because isn't that what they always say about wishes? That if you tell someone it won't come true?"

He nods once at my words with a thoughtful moan. "I suppose that _is_ true." He stops chewing, swallowing slowly as he eyes me carefully. He must really want to know. I can tell he does. "I still want to know though," he adds after a moment, rather guiltily.

"Yeah, and you can tell that you do," I mutter with a laugh. "But I really can't say it out loud." I really don't want to tell him. It's too mortifying and I'm not so sure I have any bravery left after this morning on The Grace with what I requested and, surprisingly finally got. "It's too embarrassing to speak out loud."

"Embarrassing?" I suddenly wish I hadn't said that when Christian focuses on me extra intently with both eyebrows raised. "Well, now I'm _definitely_ intrigued."

"I can't," I say again, squirming beneath his gaze. "Please don't make me have to say it." And then he chuckles softly at my reaction, making my squirming grow even more wild.

I really do need to stop loving everything this man does so much. Eating, sucking food off his fingertips, laughing- everything he does gets to me unlike no other, I swear.

"I have an idea then," he says, and he suddenly rises from the chair and places his still half-full bowl of Chinese take-out on the table.

I stare after him nervously as he heads back inside, disappearing for a moment. My mind is still made up though. I'm really not so sure I want him to know. He returns a minute later holding 2 small things in his hands. When he comes closer, I see it's a pen and a piece of ripped-off paper from a notepad.

"If you can't say it out loud, write it down then," he says, placing the pen and paper in front of me at the table.

"You really want to ruin my wish and make it not come true, don't you?" I murmur, shocked by his persistence.

He falls back down into the chair next to me while reaching forward to grab his bowl again, picking up his fork. I can tell he's trying not to smile as he starts scooping up some noodles on his fork. "Like I said, I'm intrigued," he mutters with humor, then he shovels the noodles into his mouth hungrily, eyes still on me.

Obviously he isn't going to give in anytime soon. Sighing, I give in, grabbing both the pen and the paper. I write my wish down as neatly as possible, then I fold it up- a tiny little note.

I feel like this is a new method of torture as Christian takes the small piece of paper from me, acting far too gleeful than what I was expecting him to. Dropping his bowl back onto the table, he starts peeling it open carefully with his fingers, the corners of his mouth curled with the ghost of a smile.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

I was enjoying this far more than I thought I would. There's something addictive about making Anastasia squirm, something enjoyable. And I'd honestly be full of shit too if I didn't admit to myself that it was utterly, utterly adorable of her.

I prolong the moment deliberately, flickering my eyes up to her on the chair while peeling the folded strip of paper back carefully with my fingers, being careful not to tear it. Once I finally get it all the way open, Anastasia wobbles in the chair as she reaches out to grab her bowl of Chinese food, her embarrassment over what she's wished for achingly palpable.

I bet I know what it is already. Something 'embarrassing', as she said? Maybe she wishes to go to a nudist resort one day? I chuckle out loud at the thought.

"Look at you," I murmur, fascinated by her reaction as she reaches up with her hand, covering the half of her face so that I can't see her anymore. "You look so nervous."

Finally putting her out of her misery, I squint to read her writing, holding the piece of paper. And once it sinks in, what she's written, I feel my mouth go dry, my heart rate increasing and pounding in my chest.

 _I wish for what happened in the bed on The Grace to happen again._

My mouth drops open as the blood seems to be exsanguinated from my entire body. Fuck me. I wasn't quite expecting this to be her wish.

"So that's your wish?" I ask, feeling winded. "This is what you want?" Like earlier on today, I need to completely sure that it's one hundred percent completely what she wants. I couldn't live with myself otherwise.

When she doesn't move her hand from her face, I reach over, grabbing onto her slender wrist gently, wrapping my fingers around it. I pull her hand down so that she can't keep hiding herself from me no matter how shy she feels about it, stroking around her wrist with my fingers.

"Again?" I ask softly, trying to stare deeply into her eyes. I try to work out her facial expression in the almost-darkness, trying to read if she truly does want this. It's next to impossible. "Ana, if you want to again, you need to be completely honest here with me and say it," I say, trying to encourage her out of her shyness. I still can't believe what I've just read.

Of all the things she could wish for, that's it. But who am I kidding? Terrible and wrong as it no doubt it, I want it too. _Again_.

"Yes," she finally answers, biting her lip. "Yeah, I... I want it again."

I should say no, we shouldn't. _For her sake_ , and for my daughters sake, of course. But there's something about her, something that has made me completely forgo all of my senses and all propriety. My daughter would never forgive me for this. I am a terrible father- a fuck-up no doubt. Fuck, I'm not even so sure that I like myself or that I'd ever want to be forgiven for this. But there's an attraction there, undeniable. It pulls me to her in ways I haven't felt in such a long, long time.

Sliding off the chair, I sink down to my knees below her, holding myself upright between her legs while still clinging and touching her wrist. She can't avoid me now, not when I position myself so close to her. She at last lifts her eyes to meet mine, anxiety and something similar to embarrassment in them. She still has her teeth sinking down into that bottom lip of hers.

"Come on," I breathe, standing up from my knees. My hand still around her wrist, I help her up from the chair carefully, showing her the way from the balcony straight back into the house.

She follows me willingly, until she reaches over with her other hand. To stop me, I assume. Perhaps she has better sense than I do?

Only I've misjudged her intentions, I realize. Her hand, rather instead of pulling me away, grasps onto the neck and collar of my polo shirt. And then she's leaning up on her tiptoes as she draws me in. And then her mouth is on mine, soft and warm, kissing me.

Reaching up, I hold the back of her head in my hand as I return her kiss, sucking in her shaky exhales through my own lips.

I have a deep responsibility and I was aware of that earlier on The Grace when I agreed to do what she asked of me. I loathe the thought of ruining this for her, I have to approach and tread carefully. This is a young girl's heart at stake here, I can't let her get hurt otherwise I may ruin her forever.

As for myself, well, I'm fairly confident that I'm a big boy. I know what it's like to love someone, only to not be good enough, to have them leave and settle with someone else. I'll be just fine. It's her heart and having to tread delicately that concerns me.

As I mold my lips to hers, I have an overwhelming need to touch her, to brush my hands against her everywhere. Releasing her head, I reach up with both hands until they're resting on her shoulders. Then I let them drop down her body slowly, touching her, caressing her own smooth skin and down the outline of the fabric of her shirt with my weathered hands.

"You are sure?" I murmur against her lips again, hearing her own response against mine as I glide my hands on the opposite path I had taken them, up this time; Up her bare arms, up her neck, over her ears, into her dark hair.

We don't even end up making it to my bedroom.

We tread blindly through the house, hardly caring about our surroundings. All there seems to be is her and me- and our lips and hands as we continue kissing, and I continue touching her, holding her.

I sink to the floor and she comes with me, and considering how soft the floor is beneath my knees, all I know is that we've found ourselves in the living room somehow. One of Ana's hands find my hair while the other caresses my cheek as she lays herself down length ways on the carpet.

Her fingers are still in my hair, fingers twisting, grasping, as I stop kissing her. I became aware of her uneven, heavy breathing as I move down, kissing around her throat, her collarbone, nuzzling into her skin with the tip of my nose, inhaling her in. She smells so incredibly good. I'd noticed that earlier even in the cabin. She smells amazing.

Lowering my hand, I locate the bottom of her shirt as I continue kissing her through the material of it. I feel her breasts and the fabric of her bra straining through the shirt as she breathes deeply, shallowly.

Finally, I push the bottom of her shirt up over the smooth, baby-soft planes of her belly, brushing my hand up over her rib-cage. Then I bend down, starting with my lips instead. I rub the bottom of my chin up against her flesh so she can feel the sensation of my stubble against her, and she inhales sharply, her fingers tightening into the strands of my hair.

"I meant what I said earlier on today." My voice is husky as I kiss my way up to where her bra starts and using my hand, I lean behind her, unclasping it open with my thumb.

She gasps as her bra flings off so that her gorgeous breasts are bared. I know she's particularly sensitive about them ad insecure, I'd felt it earlier on today. But Ana really has no need to be. When I sense her wanting to move her arm, to lift it up and cover her breasts from me, I stop her, holding her arm still while allowing her fingers to remain in my hair, finding her eyes with mine.

"Don't cover yourself, sweetheart," I whisper, peering into her eyes as they shine down at me. She looks so vulnerable, so sweet, lying back on the carpet, the long strands of her hair floating around her. She looks almost angelic. "You are so beautiful, everything about you. And I meant that when I said it earlier on today. You have absolutely nothing to be shy about."

I still get a lingering hint of where her minds at when she sinks her front teeth slowly down into that lower lip of hers again, doubt and worried disbelief gleaming in her blue eyes at my words. As I let my eyes drop to her breasts, admiring how round they are, how decently and perfectly sized, I feel her arm strain against my hold in her same protective measure to cover herself up again out of embarrassment.

"I... I don't know," she mutters, her voice barely audible. Her chin dips marginally as she tries to glance at her breasts herself. "I've never really felt-"

"- Jesus, Anastasia," I murmur incredulously, shaking my head. Her eyes narrow as she stares deeply into mine, doubt still in them. "Your big, beautiful smile. Everything about you. You are such a heart breaker," I breathe earnestly, meaning it with all my heart. "You are going to break so many hearts out there in the world."

Shifting over, I lie beside her on the carpet on my side and her head follows me, watching me as I lay right next to her. Watching her reaction, I reach over, gently cupping one of her breasts in a hand. Her eyes widen and she licks her lips, her breathing getting louder.

"See? These are so beautiful," I tell her, running my thumb gently over her nipple. "Everything about you is. Never doubt that." I hear her swallow loudly as her eyes remain on nothing else but my face while I touch her, caressing her breasts, paying what is clearly her most biggest insecurity attention.

Just to see what she'll do, I lean down towards her other breast, opening my mouth. I blow warm air onto her nipple, and it hardens as she shivers, her back arching on the carpet. Just as I'd hoped for, I'm rewarded with a breathless, short laugh.

" _Especially_ that," I mutter, unable to not smile in response to her infectious laughter. I swear. There is something about her laugh that gets me every time. "Especially that laugh, Anastasia."

Reaching for me with her hand, she cups the back of my neck, pulling me in, over her. I lean over her on my elbows, legs between hers, as we kiss again, her lips fast, urgent, against mine. And then she surprises me when I feel her other hand gliding down between us, down past my shirt, in between my thighs. She swivels and brings her hand up, cupping me with her fingers through the fabric of my jeans, and I can't help bucking and gasping against her mouth.

Years. I haven't been touched like this for years. It startles me.

"You are so..." I pant against her lips, marveling in her, my breath hitching in my throat. "You are so full of life, you have..." I grunt as I feel myself harden, my balls uncontrollably tight, my cock straining against the seam of my trousers as she resumes fondling me through them. "You have so much... life ahead of you."

I can't take it anymore. I really don't think I can. And clearly can she.

"Please," she begs finally, her voice low, desperate. A cry. "Please... now."

Moving my mouth from hers and shifting down between her legs, I wrench off her trousers as she pants desperately. She aids me, helping lift up her hips and her pelvis to make removing her underwear easier. Then both of her hands find the front of my trousers again as I move between her legs. She's a shaky, unsteady little thing, her fingers. She fumbles to pull down my zipper and undo the button and then I help her, yanking down my jeans past my thighs.

"Now," she pants again, and I lean back over her, pressing my mouth to hers while I reach down, guiding myself towards her. First stroke of my head I feel, just my luck, she's already fully wet and throbbing. A needy cry escapes her mouth into mine as I position myself into her, and then I slowly push. Gentle, ever so gentle.

One of her hands is buried inside my hair again as she reaches around, grasping the back of my shirt, clinging onto me as I bury myself inside of her. Just like earlier on, she's so warm, so moist.

"G-god," she whispers, pulling her head back. She leans it back against the carpet, her eyes flying up to meet mine from where I remain, inside of her, holding myself up above her, our faces inches away. "It... it feels different than I, um, I... I thought it would." Her voice is strained and trembling, her pupils dilated, overriding the blue irises of her eyes as she breathes up at me.

"Are you... are you sore?" I ask her, my voice hoarse, concerned. I'd made sure I was extra gentle earlier, same as now. Hurting her and making her uncomfortable, it is the very last thing I want to do.

But she feels so good. With me, inside her, closed around her walls, it's so good. So warm.

"N-no, not sore," she breathes, shaking her head briskly once, her hair falling and tossing around her. "But it..." I can tell she's overwhelmed, like she probably was the 1st time, trying to get accustomed to all of these strange sensations, all of these feelings. Oh, the strangeness of sex and the human body. I recall being puzzled by it myself as a kid. "It doesn't hurt as much or f-felt like I thought it would." She's breathing laboriously, her fingers rapidly bunching short strands of my hair at the back of my head into tufts. "I, um, I like it." She licks her lips as she stares up into my eyes deeply, a frown marring her forehead. "I... I like it more than I thought."

"Then that's good, isn't it? You are meant to like it."

I move back slowly, then thrust gently back into her. Her head tips back as she stares into my ears, a low cry escaping her.

"You still okay?" I ask her.

She nods her head, not only once, but three times to reassure me. Then we start to move in earnest.

The feeling... I'd learned earlier also how much I miss this. Not only the exquisite feeling but how special it is, having a connection with someone in this way, being with someone in such a fashion. I feel my body begin to bead with sweat as she clasps her hand around my neck, pulling my head down, my mouth returning to hers.

She's not as passive and nervous as she was earlier on. I can notice the difference, the change in her confidence. It's amazing. She starts moving this time rather than lying down, meeting my thrusts with her hips, her pelvis brushing against mine as we start a pattern together. She stiffens beneath me and I know she's every bit as close as I am.

It happens for her before it does me. I feel the change within her, the beautiful change, as her nipples harden through my shirt, rubbing against my chest. Her back arches, a cry gasped out between her lips to mine, and then she shivers and shudders wildly. My release comes barely five seconds after her and I come, exploding into her violently, calling out her name.

It was every bit as good as it was earlier. Perhaps even better, with her heightened experience and new-found knowledge. I remain inside her for a few moments, kissing her while bringing up my hand, caressing around her smooth cheek with my fingers as she regains her breath, her skin moist.

Once I bring open my eyes, I'm still panting for breath as I stroke her hair. Moving the lower half of my body very carefully, I bring myself out of her, then collapse onto my side on the carpet, struggling for air as I bring her with me. She leans her head against me, still panting hard herself. Then once I've gathered myself, I lift my head, assessing her, making sure she's okay like my ritual from earlier on today.

She appears perfectly fine but beautifully winded as she meets my gaze, a half-smile on her face as she blinks slowly, exhausted. _Thank god she's okay._

"I didn't hurt you this time either, did I?" I ask her through my panted breaths with concern.

She shakes her head against me, then reaches up, patting me on the side of my cheek as I lean down to press a swift kiss into her forehead.

"You... you didn't..." she begins, then she inhales in deeply. Once she recovers, she finally finishes her sentence. "We didn't use... protection like a... a condom? I'm not on the... pill?"

"I don't think we have to be concerned by that," I admit to her softly, leaning down to hold my chin atop of her head. It's true, and even earlier, we hadn't. I don't think it's necessary but I can understand her concern for becoming pregnant, no doubt highly fertile young woman she is. "It isn't possible for me, Ana."

"What isn't?" Her voice sounds every bit as soft and drugged-out as mine does. "Hmm?"

"Around 10 or 11 years ago, I... I had a vasectomy," I explain to her. "I can't father children anymore."

"Oh." I'm not sure what to think about her tone, but it's rather surprised and high pitched. "Was that, um, your decision or your... your ex's, too? Assuming you were still married at the time?"

"We were and it was partly a mutual decision. Kate was... enough."

"Oh," she breathes again.

"Yeah," I breathe back. I'm not quite sure what else to say on that.

"What if, say, you met someone and you decided you wanted to have children again? Or... or they decided even that they wanted children with you?"

"Then I suppose we could always adopt." I shrug against her, this not having been anything I'd had to consider before. "Or I could always try to get it reversed. A specialist reassured me that it was not permanent."

"Oh." There it is again. That mysterious, quiet oh.

"Oh?" I repeat, teasing her. "Just oh?" Then I have to laugh, chuckling against her.

"Oh," she mutters, then she leans slightly on her side to peer up at my face, one of her beautiful big smiles there on her for me. _God, this girl... she is utterly beautiful. Her radiant smile and playfulness, catching. Infectious._

 _God, the way she makes me feel. The life inside her, how young she makes me feel, how youthful._

A song comes to my head, extremely fitting, one of my many favorites.

"Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am whole again," I start to say to her, using my normal speaking voice rather instead of singing. I know she'd be horrified if she heard me start to sing. "Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am young again..." I try my hardest not to laugh as a look of sheer confusion comes across Anastasia's face. She clearly doesn't recognize this song. "Whenever I'm alone with you," I finish, bending down to murmur it into the soft crease at the base of her neck, "You make me feel like I am fun again..."

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVELY ALERTS AND COMMENTS I HAVE RECEIVED. I FEEL SO FLATTERED. I HOPE THIS ONE MAKES UP FOR ALL OF CHRISTIAN'S DENIAL AND MOOD SWINGS. I HOPE IT ISN'T REALLY BADLY WRITTEN OR HORRIBLE, I STILL GET NERVOUS HAHA BUT AM TRYING TO PUSH MYSELF, PARTLY DUE TO YOUR LOVELY REVIEWS AND ENCOURAGEMENT. LOVE TO KNOW YOUR FEELINGS? HOPE IT ISN'T TOO CHEESY? *RUNS AND HIDES AWAY

P.S THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS. AS TO THE COMMENT ABOUT THIS STORY BEING GROSS DUE TO THE SITUATION I UNDERSTAND WE ALL HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS BUT PLEASE IF YOU DONT LIKE A STORY OF THIS NATURE I AM NOT FORCING YOU TO READ. TO PUT SOMETHING UP ON HERE I FIND TERRIFYING YET REWARDING THANKS TO SUCH LOVELY SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT BUT I AM NOT FORCING TO READ. BEING REPORTED TERRIFIES ME AS I AM TRYING TO WRITE THIS FOR FUN WHILE BEING RESPECTFUL SO I APOLOGIZE IF THE STORY HITS SOME NERVE OR OFFEND.

NOT WANT TO BE A WRITER THAT DOESNT COMPLETE HER STORY BUT I AM CONSIDERING OUT OF FEAR. MOST OF YOU ARE SO LOVELY AND ENCOURAGING BUT SOME REVIEWERS ARE FRIGHTENIBG BUT ONLY A LOW PERCENTAGE

AS ASKED THIS IS FICTION NOT REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE WHAT I AM WRITING ABOUT BUT THANKS ANON REVIEWER FOR CONCERN LOTS OF PUBLISHED WRITERS USE IMAGINATION


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

ANASTASIA POV

 _How funny sex is,_ I find myself thinking as I comb out my hair carefully with my brush in the bathroom mirror. What happened between Christian and I earlier on- not only once but 2 times- it was above and beyond all expectations. I wonder if anyone can tell I've done it or if I look somehow noticeably different on the outside. I meet my gaze in the mirror as I breathe in deeply, trying hard to stop myself from grinning foolishly. I can't see any noticeable difference though; I still look completely the same. Well, I feel I do.

It's just... sort of different, the way I feel on the inside. Well, how my body feels. It feels different. Looser, more relaxed somehow. Something I haven't really felt before.

I can't help that little anxious tight ball of uneasiness I feel in my stomach at the thought of heading home tomorrow. Kate comes back from her Mom's tomorrow, and I have to wonder if everything will suddenly be different now. Will I feel weird every time I interact with Kate? Will things be too awkward between me and her father now when ever we're around each other?

Shoving my brush back into my bag, I yank down on my pajama tank top before clicking off the light and heading out of the bathroom. I head towards Kate's empty bedroom, setting my bag down on the floor. I bite down on my bottom lip as I glance towards her bed. I really don't know what to do right now.

Christian's in his bedroom obviously. After what happened between us, do I sleep in Kate's room? Or do I assume it's OK to sleep in the bed with him in his room? It's all sort of confusing and having never been in a situation like this before obviously, I'm not totally sure what to do. Will he want me to sleep in the bed with him? Or does he want to be completely alone right now? I sort of wouldn't mind sleeping in the bed next to him in his room like I had last night even before things changed between us and we were together sexually but I don't know how he'll feel about it.

This was probably something casual in his eyes anyway, us getting together. Would he feel I'm forcing him into something if I did head into his room?

Yanking down the bottom of my tank top again and deciding to take my chances, I leave my bag of belongings where they are, instead turning out the hallway towards his room. His door is halfway open and I can see the light is still on. Would he prefer to be alone right now?

I lift up with my hand, pushing it open wider with my fingers quietly. I find him almost at once, sitting on the left side of his bed, on top of the sheets with a lamp on. He looks very busy reading something; Numerous papers, and he doesn't look up even as I stand in the doorway to his room. He's shirtless with just knee-length light blue boxers on, with his long legs outstretched, his bare feet crossed.

Just simply by looking at him, images flash wildly by in my mind of earlier, making my skin feel warm and overheated. The way he touched me, how he somehow knew to take the time to make me feel so much better about one of my main insecurities when it comes to my body- my breasts. How it felt, sort of strangely warm and tight, him inside me. How I'd somehow felt this strange confidence to reach down between us and stroke him through his jeans with my fingers. Like I said, it was above and beyond any expectations. I just want to make sure I don't make him feel too uncomfortable by seeming as if I'm expecting way more from this.

Suddenly and without warning, he lifts his gaze from the paper he was reading, his gray eyes immediately finding me from where I stand, quietly up against the open doorway, watching him. He licks his lips and I think I see something similar to soft amusement glistening in his eyes as he droops the paper down a little.

"Are you OK, Anastasia?" he asks, and now amazingly even his voice makes me feel all the more funny. Naturally I find most things about him spine-tingling, from his smile, to his laugh. But now it's intensified almost, in an embarrassing way.

"Um, yeah," I murmur, biting my lip again uncertainly. "I think so."

"You _think_ so?" He arches his eyebrows at me, the tip of his tongue peeking out a little from his lips. He uses it to trace slowly along his bottom lip, then he says, "Is there something you need?"

"Actually, um, I was just wondering if you'd mind if I slept in here with you again like last night?"

"Oh. Of course I wouldn't mind." I try not to give off my relief when he reaches over to collect some of the loose papers he is holding quickly, gathering them up off the sheets. He shifts a little, like he's making more room even although there is plenty enough already. "I was actually hoping you would want to sleep in the bed with me anyway. I just... didn't want to make you feel pressured or as if you were obligated myself in case you did want to sleep alone in Katherine's room." He licks his lips again briefly as he sits up straighter against the headboard.

Shoving off the doorway while trying to not give any of my sheer relief away, I pad towards the free side of the bed slowly. I climb up on my knees over the mattress, sinking down on my side next to him, facing him while resting my chin on my hand. He starts reading again, concentrating on the numerous papers in front of him that he's holding. When I lean forward to catch a sneaky glimpse of them, to my relief he doesn't say anything or minds me peeking.

"What are you doing?" I ask quietly, unable to hide my curiosity. I can't make sense of what he is reading at all.

Christian sighs gently through his nose as he turns his head to look at me. "This is stuff for work," he admits, making a very humorous bored face. "Enthralling stuff."

I can't help the small giggle that escapes me. "Well, by the way you say it, it sure does sound very... interesting?" I look over all the things written on the paper again; The weird symbols, all the numbers. "And complicated. Just by looking at it myself, I have no idea what any of it even means."

"You wouldn't want to understand what any of it means," he whispers with another deep sigh. "It's just pointless financial shit. Pointless to you, anyway." As if to show how fed up he is by it all, he pushes all the sheets of paper off the bed carelessly onto the floor, his eyes lighting up as another short laugh escapes me at his behavior. Suddenly he's alert and focused on me now, his eyes scrutinizing the length of my face as I remain where I am, lying beside him. "I can think of plenty more things to do that could be way more enthralling than financial shit and paper work could ever be."

"Oh, yeah?" I tease. "Like what?"

He chuckles in that spine-tingling way of his, and then catching me off-guard, he reaches towards me with both hands. He finds each of my wrists, and tugs gently. "Come over here," he murmurs, and although confused, I stand up onto my knees and crawl over him, sitting astride him with my legs on either side of him.

"Now what?" I ask breathlessly, glancing down at him while he strokes my wrists with his thumbs. "What happens now?"

I think I somewhat already know the answer to that despite my inexperience. He smiles and gives out another low chuckle as he releases my wrists. Then drops his hands, using them to run back and forth over my knees and thighs, making me shiver. "You cold?" he asks softly, meeting my gaze questioningly. I realize he's misunderstood the reason for my shivers and he rubs his hands back and forth over my legs even harder, creating friction.

"No, I'm not cold at all in anyway whatsoever," I admit, moving my hands down tentatively. To my relief, Christian lets me slowly run my hands up and down his toned chest, around his flat nipples and the soft, small hairs there. "It's only just..." I drop his gaze, feeling shy all of a sudden, "when you do touch me, I find it makes me shiver. Not out of being cold though but... in a good way."

Getting warmed up and feeling bolder, I run my hands further down this time, enjoying how warm his skin feels, how thicker and rough somehow. Around his rib-cage, down towards the curly hairs trailing past his belly button. Then... _lower,_ to where the band of his boxer briefs begin, hanging around his pelvis. I hear a ragged breath hitch in his throat as I watch his chest fall rapidly with undulations and then rise with exhalations.

"So you... _did_ enjoy yourself?" he asks after a moment, and there's an odd change to his voice that I haven't heard from him before, I don't think. It's almost strained, too... hoarse. "I didn't hurt you when we... did what we did the 2nd time?"

"You really didn't," I assure him, and he brushes both hands up over my thighs again, clasping at my bare skin with his fingers. Uncontrollably, I can't help leaning back, closing my eyes tightly at the feeling of his hands stroking my skin and up and down my thighs. I just like him touching me too much. It just feels so incredibly good and sexy. "Thank you." The words blab out of my mouth senselessly before I even know what I'm saying, my eyes still clenched closed.

I hear him give off a low throaty humming noise, like he's amused. "No, Anastasia, thank _you_."

"Thank _me_?" Him saying that, it confuses me. I reopen my eyes slowly, peering down at him while resuming my ministrations to his chest, feeling his chest lift and fall beneath my hands.

"Yes, thank you..." He meets my gaze, his face softening dramatically. It makes my stomach clench. I really like it when he looks at me that way. "For... all of this." As I brush my right hand down over his belly button, he makes a deep noise at the back of his throat, his lips parting. How can a man be capable of making such sexy sounds? "For... making me feel this way. I haven't..." He pauses as I use my index finger, stroking down the length of bristly hair trailing down his belly button to his pelvis, to the waistband of his brief. "I haven't felt this way in an extremely long time. I'm sure you've... noticed that already."

He inhales in deeply, eyes on nothing else but mine. Something takes over in his eyes, a gleam I noticed he got 2 times earlier when we did what we did together. I think it's arousal? His turned on look? That look, it makes me feel so exhilarated, so... gushy warm. That I can have that power, that what I am doing is effecting him in such a way... it's mind-blowingly great.

"You make me feel... desirable," he goes on, swallowing thickly."Like there's still... hope for a man like me." The muscles in his throat knot together as I notice his breathing get shallower and shallower. My own breathing begins to match his when he uses his hands again, gripping around my thighs and ankles, trailing up and down them with his strong masculine hands. "So yes, thank you."

"But you _are_ desirable?"

I notice his face close off and cloud over with something resembling disbelief for the briefest second as he shakes his head, as if he's shrugging my comment off. How can he not realize how truly desirable he is?

"And just so you know, no... strings," he adds under his breath.

My hands pause from tracing around his rib cage automatically as I strive to digest his words in. No strings? I can't say I'm entirely sure what he means by that. But then he elaborates a moment later.

"Like you said on The Grace, this was a... a gift to you, an opportunity. Something I... I'm flattered and honored that you chose me to be the 1 to give you it. I'm not... naive." What? "I don't expect more than what you want this to be and I... I want you to know that. No strings, no... no pressure."

Suddenly this conversation disturbs me. I try to change it onto something else instead, "Tell me something about yourself."

His breathing is more harsh, uneven somehow, as I continue tracing a pattern into his warm skin gently. "Like what?" He murmurs slowly, his voice sounding relaxed.

"Hmm, I don't know. Something personal maybe? Tell me about your parents?"

"Well, there's Grace as you know. And my father Carrick." He stops thoughtfully, licking his lips. "I think they are both the most incredible human beings on the planet. They've just reached their 32nd wedding anniversary and are still as mad for each other as ever."

"Sounds lovely. Do you have any siblings?"

"I do. There's Elliot and Mia, Katherine's aunt and uncle."

"Are you the oldest or youngest?"

"Youngest actually." Closing his eyes suddenly, Christian curses unexpectedly, "Jesus, Fuck!" and it startles me.

Cautiously, I'm about to move both hands off his chest, but then he quickly glances up at me gently as he reopens his eyes, a look of something needful there, something different.

"Sorry, I... I didn't mean to raise my voice just then, Ana, but... Jesus."

He looks so strained and desperate in his facial expression, hos breathing deep.

"What are you trying to do to me? Are you trying to cause me agony?" he breathes unevenly in seeming wonder, and then I finally understand when he does what he does next. He finds one of my hands, grasps it gently in his, and places it right there, in the center of his boxer briefs. Immediately I feel him through the fabric, erect and standing upright, hard yet soft warm flesh. "Feel what you do to me all over again?" he murmurs, and guiding me, he gets me to stroke my hand up and down over the mound through his cotton briefs. "Can you feel what you've awakened out of me, something that... that's been dormant for so long?"

Licking my lips to moisten them, I drop my eyes as he releases my hand, allowing me to move it all by myself. His hips buck gently as I resume touching Christian through his boxers, amazed and excited by what's going on. I cannot believe how quick I can seem to turn him on. It's so... arousing and just knowing that, it makes me feel so aroused in turn. I can feel a hot tingling sensation building around my most intimate private area.

I watch him as I make a pattern of rubbing him with my hand, enjoying the way his expression changes. His lips are parted, mouth making an O, his eyes squinted like it's almost too much, it's too deliciously painful for him to endure.

"You have no idea..." he pants with sharp breaths, "How good that feels, how... great with your hand like that."

Snaking an arm around my waist, he manages to pull me down and our mouths touch. He breathes shakily against my lips as I continue touching him through his boxers and once he's near completion, he lets me know.

"Shit, sweetheart, Ana," he inhales into my skin, his voice deep and raspy, "I'm going to come!" And then he shudders all against me, our noses touching while his urgent breaths fan across my skin, his boxers immersed with a dampness and heat seconds later.

Afterwards, we remain like that for a while, me resting down on Christian, his nose against my forehead as he regains and catches his breath. He pants like he's just been out on one of his morning jogs, his skin sweaty.

"Jesus," he repeats again after a while, and as he leans back, both hands cupping my face in them, he looks me over. I don't know what he sees visible on my face but there must be something, because he laughs breathlessly against me.

"What?" I ask curiously, both a little self-conscious yet amused myself.

"You should see your face right now," he murmurs, and he laughs again. Using his thumbs, gently, tenderly like I'm something extra fragile that deserves to be touched with such startling delicacy, he runs his thumbs down my cheekbones. "You look like the cat that's ate the canary."

Making sense of his words, I can't help grinning widely. "Well, it's true and I sort of am," I point out teasingly, not bothering to hide it. "I am very proud of myself right now considering I... I haven't even done that before."

"Well, rightly so."He nods once and reaches down, tracing his thumb over my bottom lip this time. A spine-tingling grin comes over his mouth. "You should be proud."

"And I _am_."

...

When I wake to gentle light spilling into the room, I feel sort of bereft when I turn and discover that I am alone in bed, with Christian no longer sleeping in it beside me. Sitting up slowly, it occurs to me what day it is. Today is Sunday and I will have to go home, especially seeing as Kate returns from her Mom's house today and, obviously, I can't still be here otherwise it will be too suspicious.

The thought of seeing Kate tomorrow, of seeing her at school while having done this, in sleeping with her dad... It makes me feel sort of ill. I feel ill because I know I am betraying her and yet, at the same time, I don't think I have ever felt truly this happy before.

I can't bring myself to regret what's happened, being intimate with Kate's dad. I just can't. I just hope he won't regret it either.

Climbing out of the sheets, I make the bed, trying to make it as neat as hopefully it always looks. Then I head into Kate's empty room, get changed out of my pajamas into fresh clothes, and make sure I haven't left any telling evidence in her room as well, anything that will give me away. Once content, I carry my bag with me downstairs, wondering where Christian is. I know he goes jogging in the mornings but having checked the time on the clock in Kate's bedroom, it's already 11.30 and I've slept in.

On the last step, I turn towards the kitchen... and suddenly, there he is. His back is facing me and he's already dressed in jeans and a business shirt. I hear odd hissing noises, as well as toast popping loudly in the toaster. Is he cooking breakfast?

The smell that greets me as I plop my bag on the floor and head further in confirms all I need to know.

"Mmm," I murmur quietly, making my presence known. "Something smells incredibly good."

For a second, my stomach clenches in apprehension to discover what will be on his face. Will he try to act aloof again and as though nothing passed between us? Will he act somewhat cold? But to my relief, as he turns to look at me from where I stand behind him while grabbing two pieces of bread out of the toaster, he's smiling. He seems refreshed and in good spirits. It makes me feel in good spirits in return.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he breathes, dropping the pieces of toast on 2 plates. Then I see him throw a look at the time on the illuminated numbers of his stove. "You slept in? It's already 20 to 12."

"I know. I must have been tired." _And worn-out from all the love making experiences you gave me,_ I think to myself inside my head, blushing. "Um, you need some help?" I ask, wringing my hands.

"Sure. You could always butter the toast?"

"Of course." I get into doing that, helping butter the toast while surreptitiously watching him work at the stove. He easily flips over 4 eggs, then energetically sprinkles dried oregano over them. It smells delicious.

"Did you sleep OK?" he asks me, angling his body sideways to look at me. The shirt he is wearing cuts off above the forearms, and each time he scrapes at the eggs frying in the pan, his muscles elongate gloriously.

"I slept incredibly well. Did you?"

"I did. In fact, it was probably 1 of the better nights I've had in years." He pauses in a seemingly deliberate way, looking overly thoughtful. "I can't imagine why that was. Can you?"

"Nope, I can't even imagine why either," I play along, but I feel that pesky flush spreading across my cheeks as he grins at me. "Must have been due to all that energy being burned." I can't end up being straight-faced for too long so I end up failing in the attempt, caving in to smile to myself at what we both are hinting at between the lines together.

I'm still smiling even when I make us both a cup of tea each, placing it on the breakfast counter near our place mats. The eggs done, Christian slides them onto our pieces of toast and then he comes to sit next to me on the stool.

"Thank you," I murmur after swallowing a mouthful of toast and egg. "I can't remember the last time someone actually made me breakfast."

"You're very welcome, Anastasia." I guess we both are as famished as each other, because things end up quiet as we eat our breakfast. The only thing that really breaks the silence is the forks and knives scraping on the plates.

"What time does Kate usually arrive home from her Mom's?" I ask once I'm finished, setting my fork and knife down gently on my plate. Christian has already finished his, his plate pushed aside as he nurses his cup of tea in both hands.

"In the afternoon, usually. Around roughly 4.30 or 5, Anastasia." He takes a slow sip of his tea, swallowing it. "I'll have to drop you off before then."

"Of course," I whisper in agreement, reaching for my own cup. I blow into the cup, hoping to cool it down as I wonder what to say next. Somehow, it feels awkward, speaking of this.

"What will you tell your mother?" he asks me.

"Same thing I always basically do. I'll just tell her that I stayed over at Kate's for the weekend like always."

...

Things get even more awkward on the drive home to my mother's, something I never believed could be possible. There's mainly silence while we listen to his CD, and just general conversations that mean nothing. Then it comes on and I feel my body tense.

The same song he played to me on The Grace, the same song he pulled me into his arms and swayed me to before we had sex the 1st time. Under My Skin. Even although I turn up the stereo to listen to the lyrics and drown out my thoughts, it doesn't seem strong enough to completely eradicate them. I just get flashbacks, memories of what we did together, what we experienced.

His body, how it felt to be up against him as he swayed me to this exact song. Stroking me with his strong hands at my navel through the damp towel... How he made me feel less self-conscious about my body, and how good it felt, him inside me, hard and rigid. His moans, how our skin felt brushing together. I have to shut my eyes and press my lips together tightly as my body hums at the recollection, and various muscles clench deep below my body in a not so unpleasant way.

He hasn't mentioned anything, and neither have I. I'm not sure whether to, of course. Probably, to him, it was a 1-off thing, something to never happen again. Is it silly of me and naive that I wish for more? So, so much more? Probably.

It is just too complicated and, in some ways, I hate feeling this way right now. Now I start to wonder if I was being incredibly selfish, asking him for this. Making him do this to me, giving me the experience. I know he enjoyed it but... at what cost? I know Kate would be really uncomfortable and even possibly betrayed that her father and I slept together. I just like him so, so much. Having done what we did together, it only just intensified those feelings. But obviously it is different for him.

I have a epiphany of his words last night. I couldn't make any sense of them, until now. How he said things like 'no pressure, no strings'. It was clearly just a 1-off thing for him, with a younger foolish girl, with no feelings involved whatsoever. Of course, nothing could come out of this, except for... heartache and anger on Kate's side of it, at the pair of us. And yet, a part of me cannot help wishing that there was more to this and that there could ever be more.

Forcing my eyes open with a deep breath, I allow myself to steal a quick glance into his direction. Christian's eyes are focused on nothing else but the road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tight. Now, when I so much as even look at him, there's this feeling that hadn't been there before. This sort of sort ache, a tenderness. Maybe it's because we did something so personal, so intimate together? Does he feel it too? Or is it all just me being plain emotional and foolish?

Christian must have felt my eyes on him, because suddenly he turns his head to look at me, his gray eyes meeting mine. He gives me a small smile, 1 I find difficult to work out the meaning of, before he glances forward to the road again. What is he thinking? What does he even... feel right now? Or am I just reading too much into everything?

I feel a tight, aching pressure in my gut; words that I desperately feel I need to say before it gets too late. "I... I've really enjoyed this weekend," I finally say, speaking over Frank's crooning as the song ends at last.

He turns to meet my gaze again with another tight-lipped smile. "Yes, Anastasia, me too."

And there, that's it. More silence grows between us. I'm not sure what I am expecting though. Finally, as he pulls up across the street from my Mom's house, he turns to face me while shutting off the engine. Throwing off my belt, I realize how reluctant I am to leave him, to have to get out of the car and head inside to where my mother is.

"Are you sure you have everything from the house?" Christian asks, gesturing towards my bag on the floor with his chin. I reach down to grab hold of it with a nod.

"I'm sure." I stare at him a moment longer, wondering what to say. What can I say? Honestly, I wish I could say that I enjoyed what happened this weekend so much, that I hope it isn't the end. I wish I could tell him that I really, really like him and that- if we ever could- I would love for something more to happen out of this. But how can I say that? Would he even take me seriously- at my age?

"I suppose I may see you on the weekend if you sleep over again when Katherine's home this time," he says, something there in his voice.

Does he want to see me again? Or was it a 1-off thing? "Um, yeah. I guess so. Probably."

"Anastasia," he mutters, and it sounds like he's saying farewell.

Forcing a smile and ignoring the lump building in my throat, I whisper back, "Goodbye, Christian," then force myself out of the car. I force myself not to glance in his direction as I clamber up the steps towards the front door.

...

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

A few days go by and I hear nothing.

No secret text message. Absolutely nothing, which... all things considered, is probably a good thing.

Still, I find myself thinking about Anastasia far more often than I like, than what I am proud of. Lately, I can't seem to get her off my mind, replaying what happened earlier last weekend. I'll catch myself at work, trying to go over some papers or trying to read through my schedule, and then randomly, I'll think of her. I'll remember her.

How soft her lips were as we kissed. How warm, smooth, her body was beneath my hands. Her perfect tits, her nipples, how responsive they were to me. The gorgeous little sounds she made. How soft her hair is, how big her smile is. It's embarrassing in some ways.

In some ways, I feel like I'm that boy in high school again, nurturing a crush. Only the reality is that I am a man in his 30's and it is no doubt probably fucking pathetic, what she has managed to awaken within me. But I am trying to be on my best behavior and do the right thing.

It's been hard but I've been strict on myself. I will not text her to see how she is, even although that's something I often wonder about, even at the most inappropriate of times. I don't want to get my hopes up. I know what this was for her and I am an adult, not some hormonal silly fucking boy.

It was just an experience she wanted, nothing more, nothing less. Just because we had something together in that way, it doesn't mean she wants a relationship or whatnot. Things are far different nowadays. Today's generation want different things. Sex is more casualized. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

But I am grateful for the distraction she has definitely offered me. No longer right now do I catch myself dwelling over the bitch ex. Thanks to Anastasia, I no longer think of the ex like I had used to. No, now instead of all the bitterness, all the resentment, there's just... Anastasia in the place of it.

She's been incredibly good for me in that way. But always, I have to remind myself that she's young, she's got her life far ahead of her. What happened between us meant something different for her. Even if I feel these things for her... intense things, I cannot let her know. Even that would be selfish, because she deserves more; so much more than I could offer her.

Someone younger and her age, someone who has the same life experience as she does. Someone who hasn't been married, someone who hasn't already experienced being a father and a husband.

Essentially someone who isn't far too old for her.

Or... mainly most of the things that I am.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

"You know how I told you how Dad doesn't like me mentioning anything about what I do with Mom on the weekends? And like, how I'd have to be careful with what I say? Sort of like I'm walking on eggshells around him a bit?" Kate says as she drives us towards the house for the weekend.

"Yeah, I remember you telling me, Kate. What about it?"

I am trying to listen to her, honestly. But I'm becoming so anxious that it's difficult to. I haven't seen Christian or heard anything from him since what happened last weekend. In some ways, I feel excited to see him. A stupid, probably naive part of me hopes that something will happen between us again. Like he'll want me to sneak into his bedroom at the middle of the night. But another part of me is terrified that he'll ignore me or pretend completely that last weekend never did actually happen.

"Well, he was acting pretty strange. He told me that he realized it isn't fair, forcing me to not speak about Mom as if she doesn't exist. It was like a weird heart-to-heart thing, where he sat me down at dinner and actually told me that he wants me to be open, to feel... free to say whatever I want. It's weird how he's suddenly changed and now he doesn't care if I mention her."

I know Kate has been having a hard time not being able to talk to Christian anything remotely detailing her weekend spent at her mother's. So I'm pleased for her. But I also wonder what it means as well. "It must make it so much easier, though," I murmur. "At least you can feel free to say whatever you want now without fear of saying the wrong thing."

"Yeah, I just hope it means that he's dealing OK with what happened with Mom. I hope it means everything will be OK once graduation comes around and they are all in the same room together. I was so worried how to cope with it. Like, if dad gets upset, how do I make him feel comfortable with seeing her? And with Mom, how do I not make her feel alienated or as if I'm just solely on Dad's side."

I suppose that is why I am lucky that I have nothing that complicated to deal with as far as family goes. I already know my mother won't be attending graduation. I find myself curious to see what Kate's mom and Christian's ex looks like, but like Kate, I am worried too over what could potentially happen. Will Christian be upset to see her? What happens if he realizes he is still completely in love with her and that he isn't over her? How will he react around her new boyfriend?

"I'm worried too, Kate," I admit sympathetically. "I hope it all goes OK myself."

"I'd really hate for there to be a brawl anyway. Dad apparently used to be known as a bit of a fighter." I can't help the whipping of my head around in her direction at that unexpected confession, my eyes wide. Christian was known as a bit of a fighter? Kate must see something funny about my look, because she laughs. "Yeah, I know. You wouldn't think it, looking at him. But apparently when he was younger, Dad used to get in bar brawls and things. Apparently there was a bit of a wild side to him. Can you imagine how terrible it would be if he punched mom's boyfriend in front of the whole student body and in front of the teachers?" Kate gives me a sheer look of horror, shuddering.

Somehow Kate isn't exactly making this easier on me. Now I feel even more anxious at the impending graduation. "You don't think he would, do you?"

"No idea. I just hope there won't be a bloodbath." _Yeah, Kate really is not helping._

The nerves over our unsettling conversation still plagues my mind as we finally reach the house. Kate heads up to the garage, parking near Christian's car. He's obviously already home from work. We head out of the car with our bags, my stomach still in knots. Yet there's a fluttering sensation of excitement in my belly to see him finally too, seeing as it's been so long since what happened last weekend.

I'm not even sure how I manage to get into the house, because suddenly I feel as though I'm numb in my legs as Kate holds the front door open for me. She closes it while calling out to Christian, telling him that we're home. And then he appears at the sound of her voice, and I feel like my mind is paralyzed while my heart skips a beat at the sight of seeing him for the 1st time since last weekend together.

I can't help staring as a wave of unadulterated joy passes through me. He greets Kate by giving her a kiss on the cheek, and he looks good as always, maybe even better than I remembered from last week. He clearly hasn't shaved since I last saw him, because he's got some stubble. Dressed in a relaxed outfit after a hard day of work in loose fitting jeans and a black polo shirt.

As he at last meets my gaze with his gray eyes, I am almost envious at how completely normal and composed he seems, considering what we did together. He looks so coolly unaffected while, as for me, I am probably obviously flustered and panicked.

"Anastasia," he says, my name curling off his tongue wonderfully. Then all I can do is stand motionlessly in shock when he steps in front of me, giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek as well. His stubble feels amazing against my cheek.

"Mr Grey. Hi."

"How was both of your days at school?" he asks us, yet I feel discombobulated, distracted. Suddenly it's so difficult to act normal, especially with Kate around.

"Yeah, pretty good, dad."

"Yeah," I murmur, forcing it out weakly. "Really good."

"That's good." When Christian fixes his eyes on me again while running a hand slowly through his hair, I feel utterly frozen from the inside out. "I have a few things I need to catch up on, so I'll leave you girls to it." It's only when he's out of the room that I begin to thaw out and relax. It's embarrassing and I really need to be normal so Kate doesn't notice anything.

It's just that having not seen him or heard from him all week, it's suddenly made every thought and feeling I have for the man rush back with full intensity the second we are in the same room again. I really need to get myself together.

I drop my bag on the floor, following Kate while she puts her phone in her charger to charge the battery.

At least for a while things seem to return to normal. If he isn't in the room, it's a little easier. But just knowing his presence alone is somewhere under the same roof as me, it makes me in a constantly alert, excited state. Memories of what we shared together last weekend, how good he feels touching me with those hands of his, how I'd stroked him through his boxer briefs in his bed... I flush, a never-ending heightened state of awareness.

Flicking on the large screen TV, I get a few minutes of much needed distraction as Kate chooses a show to watch. But then I hear him and my heart is erratic again. His voice, it floats from 1 room towards where we are, the TV not even loud enough to drown it. He's talking to someone. On the phone, I think. Cautiously, I glance Kate's way, making sure she has her eyes completely glued to the TV screen. Then taking my chance, I peer around the couch, following the sound of his voice and where he is almost at once.

My heart leaps. He's standing straight across from the entryway of the living room where we are, his phone up to his ear as he talks to someone in a low, measured voice.

 _But his eyes..._

He is staring straight at me as he carries on having the conversation with someone else on the phone. Just like that, I am reminded of his captivating, penetrating gray stare. There's something intense, something breathtaking in the way he looks at me. Even as he shakes his head and looks to be irritated by something, his eyes don't leave me for a single second whatsoever.

Quickly checking Kate is still preoccupied watching the TV, when I know it's safe to, I peer back at him but this time I pointedly lower my eyes, drinking all of him in, hoping he notices it himself. I hope he knows I'm perving, that I'm admiring him. And I think he does.

He licks his lips and runs his free hand down the side of his trousers, as if his palm has grown sweaty beneath my look. He must be done with the phone call, because a second later he hangs up. He shoves his phone into his pocket, his eyes still not leaving mine. And then something must happen because quickly he drops his gaze and starts entering the room where we are in slow, measured footsteps. It's only when I turn back to the TV do I realize Kate is looking at her dad.

"What do you girls feel like for dinner tonight?" Christian asks behind us, and then I feel my heart accelerate as he places both hands inches away from the sides of my head on the couch. He doesn't touch me, of course, but I feel the close presence all the same.

"No idea. What do you 2 feel like?" Kate asks. "Ana?"

"Um, I... I don't mind. I'll have whatever you both feel like." Talking while knowing he's right behind me and that his hands are close to my head, it's impossible. But with a sudden daring impulse, I decide 2 can play at this.

Shifting slightly on the couch, I lift up with my arm, resting my elbow on purpose near where his right hand is on the couch. Immediately I feel one of his fingers touching my elbow and it takes all I have not to be obvious with reacting.

"Well, how about sushi?" Kate speaks up. "We haven't had that in a while?"

"Sushi?" I feel I can hardly breathe when I feel Christian's finger stroke up and down my elbow several times. While enviably, with him, he sounds utterly normal and as if nothing is happening. "So it's sushi then?"

But then he steps back and slides his hands off the couch, my elbow tingling at the loss of contact. A thrill spreads through me at what just happened, no matter how harmless and innocent the body contact was. And then I decide to make a game of it, just to see what his reaction will be. So long as Kate can't notice, of course.

As we get sushi I purposefully head into the kitchen to help him with getting plates. As he opens the refrigerator to grab out a bottle of water and some glasses, I make sure to brush against him when passing- all the while in an innocent, discreet way. I have no idea what effort it has on him, but when I reach up to grab the plates on the high shelf while trying to hide my smile, I notice him staring at me. Even as we all sit on the couch, I make sure my arm brushes against his every time I take a bite of my vegetarian sushi.

Once finished, I get up, grabbing Kate's plate to take it out to the kitchen.

"Thanks, I really enjoyed that," I murmur.

"Me, too," says Kate. "Thanks dad."

As I go to take Christian's plate for him, he moves it away. "I can take it out myself," he mutters, but there's an edge there in his voice.

I know he's right on my tail the second I start striding towards the kitchen sink. I shouldn't be grinning as deliriously as I am, yet I can't help it. It only goes wider the instance he brushes up behind me with his backside, his arm coming around me to place his empty plate in the sink.

"I was trying to keep some distance and give you some space, but that clearly isn't what you want, is it?" His voice is low, deliberately quiet in case Kate overhears us.

"No, you're right," I whisper, alarmed at how high my voice is. "That isn't what I want at all."

"Later tonight. When Katherine's asleep. Meet me here in the kitchen?" His voice is oddly uncertain and gentle, like he's concerned about pressuring me too hard.

But frankly I had been hoping he would say that.

HEY ALL, SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO WRITE A NEW CHAPTER. I NEEDED A BREAK TO SORT OUT A FEW THINGS AND GET SOME CONFIDENCE TO BEGIN WRITING AGAIN, SO THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! MERRY CHRISTMAS AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR! THANK YOU FOR BEING SO KIND, I HOPE THIS CHAPTER IS OK AS USUAL AND NOT A TOTAL DISAPPOINTMENT!

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE GRADUATION AND SOME TENSE INTERACTION BETWEEN THE EX, CHRISTIAN, ETC. WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND I DO HOPE YOU ARE STILL INTERESTED AND THAT IT ISN'T TOO CRAPPY?


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

IN TOO DEEP

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

I find myself tossing and turning impatiently beneath the soft bed sheets as I wait, listening carefully for the second I hear that familiar sound of Kate's heavy breathing as she sleeps deeply. I cannot wait to sneak downstairs once I know for certain Kate is sleeping deeply and there won't be a chance of her noticing me getting up out of her double bed.

The anticipation, the wondering about what will happen between us downstairs once I do finally meet Christian in the kitchen, it's... addictive. Exhilarating.

Once I begin to hear that sound of Kate's deep, steady breaths, I wait a few minutes. Then I work on sneaking out of the sheets without rustling around too much. Kicking my bare feet out of the sheets and throwing me legs off the mattress, I manage to slide off the bed as slowly and carefully as possible.

Her deep undisturbed breathing tells me I've been successful in not waking her, thank god. If she did happen to wake up, if she did suddenly catch me trying to sneak out... it would be torture.

Blindly in the dark of her room, I outstretch my hands and feel my way towards her bedroom door. It's even harder managing to open it fully without it making a noise. I know from experience of staying at Kate's house that her bedroom door squeaks if opened all the way, so I be careful to only open it roughly enough so that I can just manage to squeeze through the gap without difficulty.

Once successfully getting through, I close her door back up fully as softly as possible. My heart is racing, super fast. It's even trickier to have self-control, to tell myself not to just race downstairs as fast as possible to the kitchen.

The thought of him already down there, waiting for me in the kitchen, it makes me smile. I hope he's already there. I'm not even totally sure what the time is but all I am confident of is that it's clearly late at night, considering how dark and quiet everything is inside the house.

Light on the tips of my toes, I pad my way softly towards where the kitchen is. I've only just made it past the entryway when suddenly a shadow jumps out of practically nowhere, startling me.

"Sssh, it's just me," Christian says, his voice low, hushed. He catches me by the wrist, then starts pulling me along, leading me out of the kitchen slowly. "Here. Follow me. There's something I want to show you."

There's something he wants to show me? I try to gaze up at his face, to see him properly through the dark to see any hint of what he wishes to show me, only it's impossible. His face is too clouded in darkness to make any sense of his expression. All I can do is trust him and allow him to lead the way.

I see the faint shadowy imprint of a door against the stark white background of the walls. He releases my wrist and hushes me again while finding the doorknob. I don't think I've really been inside the room before or that part of the house. Obviously it wouldn't be polite to snoop around so much on Kate and her father's house, so I wouldn't think of it unless I had their permission.

I hear him open the door and he stands back against it to let me in 1st. Slowly, I inch my way in, hoping to be careful not to accidentally tread on anything or knock anything. I hear Christian close the door up gently from behind me. Then there's a sudden clicking noise and I am blinded by a muted, yellow glow of light illuminating everything up.

He's turned on a lamp, I realize. And this room, it definitely isn't 1 that I have been inside before.

There's a large mahogany desk in 1 corner, which has the lamp on it. It's neatly arranged with pens and paper. Next to it, is a filing cabinet and an electronic shredder for shredding paper, as well as a printer. In the opposite corner of the room, there's an old dusty yoga mat, dumb bell weights, and what appears to be old toys and knickknacks that must have belonged to Kate as a child.

"This is our recreation room," Christian explains quietly, moving around it. "Sometimes this where I do work at home because it's quiet. Other times, we just store things in here that we're not sure where to put them."

Curious, I spot a decent sized boat model on a small drawer. I move towards it, inspecting it curiously. It looks identical to The Grace, exactly like her but pint sized.

"I made that myself," he says, and I realize he's standing right behind me. "It's an exact replica of The Grace."

"I thought so," I murmur, reaching out to touch the little wooden wheel on it gently with my finger. It looks like it would have taken him hours to assemble. There is so much detail in every bit of it. "It would have taken you a long time?"

"Just a little over 3 weeks," he admits with humor in his tone. "As you no doubt could imagine, it was incredibly frustrating to get it all right and in the exact precise spot."

"Yeah, I can definitely imagine how frustrating it would have been," I laugh in agreement. Then I notice something to the left of it, tucked in the corner. There's a keyboard sitting there, with it's own comfortable looking bench seat. Next to it, is what appears to be a very neat headphone system. "Do you play that?" I ask softly, hinting to the electronic keyboard set-up near the wall. "The keyboard?"

"I do, actually. It's 1 of my favorite things to do although... I don't get to play as often as I like."

"Do you play it well?" I reach out, stroking 1 of the black keys gently. My finger comes away a little dusty. It really must be a while- like he's just said.

"I suppose that's a matter of personal interpretation but... you could say that." I turn to look at him, and just as I suspected, he is standing right behind me. He's watching me intently, something there in his gray eyes. I realize for the 1st time that he's wearing his boxers and a tight-fitting light blue shirt. "I've always wanted a piano but..." He tosses his head, trailing off into silence.

"But?" I prompt curiously.

"But... the ex always felt it would take up too much space and clutter the house up," he finishes under his breath hurriedly. "So... I always settled for the keyboard instead." Moving to stand at my side, he reaches down, switching a little button on. A green light appears on the keyboard, signalling that it's on, I think. Then he reaches over to that neat little headphone system, pulls them off carefully, and looks at me meaningfully. "Here, put these on and take a seat," he whispers unevenly, and I do.

I notice there's a new gleam in his eyes as I slip the headphones on over my ears carefully, watching him. He seems excited, almost palpably with it. I realize he intends to play me something and I find myself actually interested and dying to hear what he can do with a keyboard.

I step over the bench and sink down onto it, the covering over it red satin and soft on my bottom.

"Play something for me then," I murmur, not totally sure how loud I'm speaking through the vibrations the keyboard is obmitting. And then, a second later, Christian actually does.

I feel paralyzed- but in an incredibly good way, of course- when he slips his arms through mine, raising his hands to the keyboard. And then I'm entranced, not only by the melody that he starts to play, but also the way his hands and fingers move, fluttering and dancing over the white and black keys with skill. This. This is honestly a huge part of why I find him to be so impossibly... what were his words last weekend? 'Desirable?' It's how experienced he is, how he can do so many things with precision, with skill. I can't deny that is a huge part of my attraction to this older man.

I close my eyes to the music, stiffening, my belly clenching in a curious way as I let the music spill out in my ears through the headphones, enveloping me. The melody is sweet, romantic and joyful, yet it has hints of melancholy to it too. I feel the tip of his chin resting against the top of my scalp, my hair, his body pressed up against me as he plays from behind me while standing.

The closeness, the way his arms and the short sleeves of his cotton shirt brush up against mine every time he touches various keys, it's... amazing. Weirdly erotic, even.

And he's such a good, capable player. He plays so amazingly well.

Reopening my eyes slowly, I watch his hands again, his fingers. I've always found something alluring and sexy about even his hands, oddly enough. Now, even more so. The way he deftly works the keys, all fingers at a time. It's incredible.

"Well, if you ever tire of being a businessman, you definitely could have a promising career in music," I murmur through the melody, though I'm not sure if I'm speaking too loudly or not. "You play really well. It's beautiful."

Unable to help myself, I reach up tentatively with my hands, then lay my palms over his knuckles. I can feel various tendons and bones moving against my palm as he continues to play. And then as the song eventually reaches it's conclusion, he lets it fall to a dramatic halt, my ears left ringing while my hands remain over his.

I can't hear properly because the earphones muffle my ears. A bit reluctantly, I remove my hands from his, reaching up, sliding the earphones down carefully to hang them around my neck. It's then that I can hear him from behind me. He's breathing loudly, heavily.

"That was amazing," I say again, my voice sounding weird. "The fact that you are good at so many things, Christian, it-"

My breath hitches in my throat, the words cut off. He reaches up unexpectedly, his hand covering over my chin, holding it, fingers squeezing gently. And then he moves my head back to an angle slightly, and then he's leaning forward over me.

His lips find mine, my chin still grasped in his hand.

Instinctively, I push back against the keyboard, trying to move around. It's a bit awkward but I manage to without breaking the kiss, and I reach up with a hand, cupping his face, stroking around his stubble-rough chin with my thumb in return. We kiss for what seems hours, our mouths moving together, our breathing hot and heavy. And then he slowly lowers himself down onto his knees between my legs, his fingers loosening it's grasp around my chin. He leans back a little, parting our lips to look at me.

I feel like I'm on fire with all of this need, it's crazy.

"Can I... try something?" he asks me softly, his voice breathless.

"Try what?" I ask, my voice just as inaudible from panting so hard. I'm not sure what he means.

He licks his lips and waits a little to regain his breath while he allows me to still have my hand cupping the side of his face, my fingers tracing around his warm cheekbone, the twitchy tight muscle and tendon in his jaw.

"Have you ever-" Christian begins, but then he stops uncertainly.

"Have I ever, what?"

Still working to recapture his breath, Christian releases my chin, only to brush his fingers slowly down the column of my throat, down towards the neck of my shirt. His touch, it leaves me feeling hot all over... hot and on fire, electricity.

"Has someone ever... kissed you before?"

I'm not sure whether to laugh out loud in confusion or not. "Um, I don't-"

"-Down there," he mutters, and his gray eyes wander down to my parted thighs in a pointed manner. My blood seems to run cold at the realization. Oh, he doesn't mean kissing as in kissing, I realize. He means... something else.

I feel myself flush as I make sense of what he's trying to say, a weird feeling coming over me. "Um, no, no one's ever really..." I swallow, feeling shy all of a sudden. "I mean, when I told you I was a... a virgin, I, um... I didn't just mean with- with sex. I meant, um, with practically everything else as well." I find I can hardly meet his eyes and I have to drop them, glancing down at a spot on his shirt instead. "So no, I haven't ever... I mean, how could I?" I'm rambling, probably idiotically. He's just taken me by so much surprise. "I mean, I... I'm not that naive. I-I know people do that sort of stuff but it... it just hasn't been done before. With... me by a... another person."

Steeling myself, I force myself to meet his eyes, to stop being silly. I don't want to come across as immature or shy, the fact that I can't even talk about something like this without feeling rather embarrassed.

I try to read his expression while he digests my words in. Does he actually want to do that to me? Is that... why he is asking?

I get a sudden flash of it, a sudden image of him actually doing that to me, down there. Various muscles clench again in a not so uncomfortable way, my heart races, my skin burns at the thought. Imagining it, him... it actually seems sexy.

"Do...do you want to?" I blab uncertainly, my voice unsteady. "I mean, um... is that why you were asking me whether I... I have had someone do that to me before?"

"Frankly? Yes." My mouth goes dry as he lifts his gaze, holding mine. He doesn't even shy away in embarrassment at all. I realize that is probably because he's older. These things, he's probably done it all before. It's nothing to be shy about. "Yes, that was... the reason why I was asking you, Anastasia. Yes." Holding my eyes straight-on, he licks his lips again. "I want to."

I. Am. Dead.

"But if you aren't comfortable with that, then of course, I mean no pressure," he murmurs quickly, his eyes evaluating mine, as if trying to read me and my feelings carefully. "I just... from experience, I understand that it's extremely pleasurable for the... recipient." He seems to be picking his words with care, his voice low, husky. "In all the times I've... participated, it was... well received."

But what about his pleasure? Isn't it only 1 sided, him doing... that... to me? What about him?

"But do you... like doing that... yourself?" I ask.

"I do," he admits, a small encouraging smile coming across his lips. "And I know it will give you pleasure and... I want to do that. I want to give you... pleasure."

Immediately I feel embarrassed for putting him in this position where he has to explain it to me so thoroughly. Why can't I just... go with it freely?

"Then yes, I, um... I want you to, Christian." Finally, I can get the words out, even although a tiny heat spreads to my cheeks. "I would like that. Thank you."

"OK," he breathes, blinking heavily at my admission. I think he's almost... relieved? "As like before, just... try to relax. Breathe."

My stomach is in knots as I reach down, pulling down my pajama bottoms. My hands are shaking. I think everything is pretty much though. Christian sits back on his knees, and then he helps me, freeing my trousers from my ankles and pushing them aside.

"You'll like this," he says, his voice somehow soothing. "Trust me. And again, if at any minute, you decide you don't want this, just... tell me. OK?"

"OK," I murmur nervously. I find myself doing nothing else but watching him, leaning my back against the keyboard behind me. It's impossible to look away, my heart racing, as he reaches up, hooking his forefingers through the band of my underwear. Then he slides them down to my ankles and frees them from my feet as well.

It's sort of scary and I feel vulnerable. Perhaps even more vulnerable than I did the 1st time we had sex together, because... this is his mouth down there. And what if I don't taste right to him? Or what if I... revolt him in some way?

"Come here," Christian says gently, once he glances up at me again, standing up on his knees. And I do.

He goes in between my knees, resting his hands on each of my kneecaps. I inhale in deeply, staring into his eyes as he gently coaxes my legs wider apart, pushing gently with his hands. Then once satisfied my legs are open wide enough, I suppose, he lifts both hands off my kneecaps, only to place them on my waist, holding me.

"You feeling OK?" he asks, the sincere concern in his voice taking my breath away. I really don't know why I feel so apprehensive, honestly. He said he wants to do. The look on his face, in his eyes... He looks like he wants to do it too. "You know you can trust me, sweetheart. Don't you?"

"I do," I murmur at once, knowing that I can. "It isn't that I don't trust you, I'm just... nervous."

"I know. But just breathe. Relax. Your here with me, and you can trust me. It'll feel good, OK? It's just like... the 1st time before. After the initial 1st experience, the... fear, you'll see how good it feels. Then you'll want it, again and again."

Eyes on nothing else but mine, he moves one of his hands off my waist. He uses his fingers, slowly tracing at my navel through my pajama tank top. Then he finally meets my bare skin, and his fingers are warm, caressing. His pinkie finger brushes against my hair down there, I feel it, and I stiffen.

"I'm going to touch you 1st, OK?" he murmurs softly, his voice strained. "See how you like that first of all. Is that OK?"

"Y-yes," I answer without hesitation.

His fingers slowly go right down there and... oh. This. He's right. After the initial discomfort, it actually feels rather... nice. His eyes remain on mine, gray and penetrating, as he circles gently with his fingers at my most intimate part. His breathing is loud, trembling. Matching mine. But then he stops suddenly with his fingers, just holding them there.

"Was that OK?" he asks me.

"Yes, it... it's good." But I find I want more. "Will you-?" I begin hesitantly, but then to my relief, I don't need to finish that sentence.

It's the strangest yet amazing thing. Moving his hands to grip at my kneecaps again, keeping them widely open, Christian suddenly bends down so that his head is... right down there to me. At 1st, I feel his warm breath. And then... he leans in completely, putting his mouth right on me.

It's lucky he actually thought of holding my knees apart because, jolting at the sudden sensation, my legs scramble to close, to shut at the foreign sensation. His tongue is warm, warm and moist, unlike anything. And his words, he is so right. After that initial shock of experiencing something for the 1st time, there is...

Now so much pleasure building... and growing.

But then he stops, abruptly cutting off all sensation. A weird cry I haven't heard come from me before erupts. "You still OK?" he asks, his voice hidden between my legs. "Do you want me to continue?" His voice. His voice alone. It's so raw, so strained with emotion, with desire even.

"P-please continue," I beg, surprising even myself.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, still hovering there. It's nice that he needs to know completely for certain but... holy hell.

"I'm sure, Christian. Please, I... I need it." My legs squirm, not out of wanting to close, but need this time, need and impatience. Reaching down, I gently touch the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck. "I need more! Please!"

At last he listens to me, and he continues. It is truly unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Amazing does not even seem to cover how good it feels, his tongue, slippery and wet and moist inside me. This man. What he is making me feel. It's... incredible. Something I never dreamed possible. And being concerned about taste and self-conscious over it. He clearly doesn't mind, does he?

"C-Christian," I murmur breathlessly. I feel like I have lost total control of my body; It trembles, shakes, convulsing.

Then it happens, in a big way. My legs stiffen and shudder, this amazing warmth spills over me, a glorious white light assaults my vision as I cry out. He doesn't stop, even when the feeling overcomes me. He just doesn't stop.

But when he finally does, I'm still uncontrollably shuddering, still shaking and moaning.

"Sssh, sweetheart," he reminds me hoarsely, getting back up onto his knees. He's panting himself somehow, his lips shiny as he licks them. "Katherine's upstairs, Ana. Remember?" Crap, Kate.

I try to close my mouth and focus on breathing calmly as he slides an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close. I rest my forehead against his shirt, still amazed, still trembling.

"You OK?" he asks again breathlessly after a long moment of just holding me, one of his hands in my hair, his lips on the crown of my forehead.

"Yeah."

"Did you like that?"

"Yeah." I nod against his forehead. I wonder if he can tell how speechless I am, how tired and unable to talk. "Thank you," I add quietly. "I never..."

"What?" His fingers stroke my hair.

"I never thought that you would..."

"What?"

"Want to do that..."

A weird gurgling noise erupts from either 1 of our stomachs. I'm not sure whether it's him or me.

I feel him shake silently with laughter, his arm still around me. "I believe that is a non-verbal cue to go get something to eat."

"Mmm."

"Wait here. I'll be right back," he murmurs, slowly moving away from me. He gets back up onto his legs, his knees cracking. "Quietly," he mutters, but to himself I think, as he heads slowly to the door of the rec room. "Quietly."

I sit there, still half-dazed on the bench, waiting for his return. I feel drugged, sleepy. Like I don't want to move. But I force myself to, in reaching down for my panties. I've just slid back into them when I hear him return back into the rec room. He shuts the door gently, carrying what appears to be a large tub of something and 2 spoons.

"I'm sorry," he says as he returns to me, sliding back down onto his knees gingerly. "Unfortunately all I could find right now is yogurt."

"Mmm, yogurts good," I whisper, struggling back into my pajama bottoms. "Thank you."

We end up sitting on the dimly lit floor of his rec room, his long legs spread out with me sitting between them, feasting on spoonfuls of cold vanilla yogurt ravenously for a few quiet moments. His arm is around me while he holds the tub, our spoons clashing together to get our next yogurt fix. But it's nice. Soothing, quiet and relaxing.

"Kate told me something in the car today," I begin softly, remembering the conversation we had earlier on today on the way over here to his house. I turn to look at him, his face seeming paler in the dim lighting as he sucks on his spoon. "She said that apparently when you were younger, you were something of a fighter and a brawler?" I can't help it, I'm definitely intrigued by this.

His reaction only just makes me all the more intrigued. Christian smiles widely at my words and he fails at suppressing a laugh. "She's right," he admits though I sense a bit of reluctance there to speak about it. Still, his smile is still in place as he digs yogurt out of the tub with his spoon. "I was something of a brawler in my younger years, Ana. I was a... complete and utter shit."

I laugh at his words, trying to imagine it. "You don't seem much of a fighter to me though? I find it really hard to imagine you like that?"

"Well, perhaps I'm not, not so much now. But in my much earlier days, I was." He then shows me a mark on the inner side of his elbow, telling me a very fascinating story of how a guy smashed his bottle over Christian's arm and that was how he got it. He had to have 15 stitches in his arm from that fight. "Then when I was around 16 or 17, I had to go to court and was charged for assaulting an officer of the law."

"What?" I laugh in disbelief, my eyes wide. "You assaulted a police officer?"

"I did." He doesn't sound very proud of it. "But as I said, I was 16 or 17, around that. I was a complete and utter little shit. I didn't care what trouble I got into."

"Wow." I cannot believe it.

"But then... the ex told me she was pregnant with Katherine, eventually around that time. I decided I couldn't be an irresponsible little shit anymore and that I had to man-up and do the right thing."

"Well, like you told me, you were only around 16 or 17 years old when it happened," I whisper, then dip my spoon back into the yogurt container. "You were young. I think everyone that age is allowed to be irresponsible at least once. Isn't that what it's all about? Making mistakes and learning from them?"

I peer over at him, realizing he's looking at me funny. I think I've surprised him or something, but then he quickly looks away down into the tub himself. "So what about you then?" he asks, something there in his tone.

"What about me?"

"If you say that everyone at that age is allowed to be irresponsible at least once. What is going to be your way of being irresponsible?"

I think over his question deeply while swallowing a mouthful of the cool, delicious yogurt down. I have no idea how to answer that. "I'm not sure," I admit thoughtfully. "But I'll probably do something. Perhaps not something as serious as assaulting a police officer though like you did..." He smiles shortly at my teasing remark. I feel like there's something there, that I've hit a nerve. What though? What could I have said?

"So _this_ then," he begins after what seems like a weirdly tense couple of minutes, his eyes still on nothing else but the inside of the tub, "You wouldn't consider _this_ irresponsible?"

"This?" I repeat. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears as he lifts his eyes to look at me at last, his expression alarmingly grave and serious.

"Yes, this? _You and me_? _Us_?" I can't work out what he's trying to say between the lines. "This isn't irresponsible to you? One of those little... _things_ you do when you're young and irresponsible, a mistake you learn from as you get older?"

I feel my face deflate at how unnerving he's suddenly being. He's obviously trying to say something between the lines but... what? I don't understand what he's trying to ask? "Meaning... what, Christian?" I ask softly, shaking my head.

"Katherine has already sent in a few applications to the colleges that she is interested in. Have you?" he asks, changing subject unexpectedly. I don't understand what he means by it at all.

"Um, I have. Kate and I were hoping to get into the same college actually."

"Then what?"

"I was hoping to move out of my mother's house. I think I've already explained to you how... unsupported I am by her and how distant she is towards me."

He nods once but doesn't say anything more on the topic, his eyes glued to his spoon. Why do things feel strange all of a sudden between us, as if there's some sense of... anger there on his side?

"Are you, um, mad at me or something?" I ask uncertainly, my appetite for the yogurt lost. "Because it sort of seems like you are?"

"Mad at you?" Finally, Christian looks at me again. He arches his eyebrows, his expression unreadable. "What makes you think that I'm mad at you?"

"Your tone and your... your questions, for 1 thing maybe?"

He sighs loudly, dropping his spoon into the container heavily. One hand goes to his hair as he runs his fingers through it, an air of exasperation in his expression as he shakes his head a few times. "Look, Ana, I don't know about you but... I'm tired."

Tired?

"I think I'm going to go upstairs to bed."

"OK?" I can only stare in confusion as he leans over, giving me a chaste but lingering kiss on the cheek. Our conversations for the night is done and at a finish. But that sense of anger there, or maybe not anger but a sense of... something? It doesn't leave me, even on my way back upstairs slowly to Kate's bedroom. I just cannot wrap my head around it. What is wrong with him? What did I all of a sudden do?

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"Dad, I look like shit..." Kate complains as she dashes out into the kitchen, spinning around so that I can see my daughter all dressed and grown up and ready for her big day. The dark grey gown whirls around with the movement, billowing at her ankles while the little red tassel on the top of her cap flicks her in the eye.

"Stop it, Kate. You look fine," I assure her. "Besides every other student there will be wearing it."

"I hate it, it's so uncomfortable. It drags."

The day of the high school graduation ceremony has approached and this morning, the house is a whirl-storm of overexcited yet anxious girls getting ready for the big day, my daughter Katherine especially.

Anastasia had slept over the evening before, because Kate and I decided that we would drive her there along with us seeing as her mother was unfortunately engaged in a work commitment and couldn't attend (What the fuck is wrong with her mother, not attending her own daughter's high school graduation ceremony?)

It's been a hectic morning; the 3 of us getting prepared. Katherine even refused to eat the breakfast I prepared while at least Ana was a little more happy to eat hers with me. Even now, Katherine still isn't happy.

"Just relax. You'll be fine." I say this at the precise moment Anastasia exits the bathroom, wearing her own matching dark grey gown and matching cap, her flowing dark hair neatly tucked beneath the cap, her eyes bright and eager.

"Wow, Ana," Kate gushes, envy coloring her voice. "You look so much better than me! It's so unfair! Doesn't she, Dad?"

Instead of answering my daughter straight away, I walk closer to where Anastasia is standing, her shoulders slightly hunched, hands crossed in front of her.

She stays still and glances up at me, her clear eyes big and full of warning, but frankly, I don't give a shit right now whether my daughter is in the room or not. I just have to touch that lip of hers. Reaching up and moving slowly, I use the tip of my thumb, tracing it slowly down her lower lip. Ana's eyes remain on mine, that wide anxious look in them, filled with warning to not do anything because of who happens to be in the room right with us.

Her throat muscles move as she swallows loudly and then her lips part. As she brings out her tongue tentatively to lick her lip, I feel her tongue brush against the pad of my thumb. Sliding my thumb up towards her top lip, she startles me by opening her mouth and completely catching the entire tip of my thumb, sucking it into her mouth, her warm tongue pulsating against it. _Fuck me. What is she doing to me?_

"Um, Dad? Hello?" My daughter's loud voice startles me and I snap to attention, hastily bringing my eyes back to where my daughter is. "Are you feeling OK, Dad? You totally just spaced out for a moment there?"

"Oh." My eyes dart back to where Anastasia is, dressed neatly in her gown and cap, a nervous gleam in her eyes, her cheeks reddish tinged. "What?" _Smooth, Grey. Real fucking smooth right now._

"Dad, I just said we're pretty much ready to go if you are? Are you ready?"

"Ah, yeah...of course, I..." To my horror, I'm stammering. My throat is too dry, my face too hot. "Uh, let me just head to the bathroom quickly for a second girls, will you?"

Excusing myself, I rush into the bathroom and lock myself in there. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, annoyed with myself. For God's sake, what is wrong with me? Can I not even make it through a few minutes without having to think of Anastasia, not to mention making a complete and utter ass of myself? I should never have allowed this to happen, it's too... difficult. I should never have allowed it to happen, and now, these fucking feelings won't subside no matter how hard I try.

Running water into the sink, I cup it, splashing it onto my too hot face. Then I grab a towel off the rack and run it over my damp dripping face in angry, punishing strokes. She's a young girl, for fuck sake. It meant nothing serious to her.

These were mere nice opportunities and soon, she'll be off at college and she will forget all about me and it. I really need to get myself together. She's a girl, a young girl, while you are an adult. She does not want anything else from you, certainly not a serious thing. She's got her life ahead of her, why would she want to be tied down to (for lack of a better imaginative word) an old fart like you?

 _Jesus._

"I hope he's OK," I hear Anastasia's voice out in the hallway.

"Yeah, me too. I think he's just really, really nervous about seeing Mom today."

"Probably."

Glaring at my reflection one last time, I hang the towel back onto the rack and smooth down one of the best suits I own, trying to appear composed. Taking 1 last breath, I open the door, finding both girls waiting for me.

"OK. Are we ready?" I ask them. "Should we head on over?"

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

I thought I was nervous for today but apparently I'm not the only 1.

Not only is Kate incredibly nervous, but I'm fairly certain Christian is as well. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he gets into the drivers seat and buckles up. While he looks incredible in his grey Armani suit, he also looks very agitated.

I bite down on my lip as I forcefully drag my eyes away, glancing outside the window instead. I wonder if he's nervous mainly about seeing _her_. The ex wife. I think I'll be quite devastated if something happens and they end up together again. No, I don't just think. I know. And honestly, I'm worried about his reaction to her as well. Although he told me that his bar brawling days are way in the past, I can only just hope nothing happens. I hope it won't upset him to see her again, I hope it won't open up his wound and make it gaping fresh again.

I think I'm more anxious about seeing the ex wife than I _even am_ about attending my own graduation ceremony, which ought to say something. I glance Kate's way, eyeing her speculatively. She looks like she wants to be sick, poor thing. I have to wonder if she is just as nervous about how this whole Christian-and-her-mom being in the same room as well thing, not to mention her mom's new partner.

It's almost a relief once Christian finds a place to park at the busy school campus and we arrive at last. Kate unbuckles herself and sits up, checking herself out in the rear view mirror, straightening up her cap. As for me, I couldn't care less whether my cap is straight or not.

Christian comes around the car, opening the door for me. I smile at him gratefully while Kate scoots over to climb out on the same side as well. She reaches out and grabs my hand, clinging onto it while Christian slams the door shut.

"Where will you be, Dad?" Kate asks, her voice unusually high-pitched with anxiety as we all start walking to the gym where the ceremony will be held.

"I'll be somewhere in the room at the back, probably."

"Do you think you'll sit next to Mom?" My own stomach does a little fluttering leap as I turn to look at him at Kate's question.

"I don't think so, honey. I think I'd prefer to sit by myself up at the back." I stiffen in surprise when I finally feel and realize Christian has his hand resting on my back as he walks beside me, Kate on my other side; I just hadn't felt it because my gown is so heavy and thick. "But don't worry. Even if I'm sitting at the back, I'm still rooting for you. OK?"

"Thanks, dad. I appreciate it."

There's a line of people waiting to fill into the auditorium and it takes us a while to squeeze in to find our places. It occurs to me that my heart is racing and my breathing is shallow; I'm nervous for Christian myself. But as I peer over at him, surprisingly he looks utterly cool and composed, if yet bright eyed with happiness for his daughter.

"I think I better go grab a seat at the back before they are taken," he informs us, looking around quickly. I wonder if he's looking for the ex. "Congratulations you two, you'll be fine." He leans down, kissing Kate swiftly on the cheek while his hand is still on my back. Then he does the same, turning towards me.

I catch myself glancing in Kate's direction nervously, watching her face while we do it. He kisses me, only it's a little closer to my mouth than my cheek. Knowing she isn't looking, I deliberately move my mouth more in his direction.

Turning his head up, I feel his mouth near my ear, his voice low, "You look beautiful, Anastasia."

Anxious to seem normal and as if nothing is going on, I force a smile, nodding once. "You look great in your suit yourself, Mr Grey," I murmur back. "Very handsome." As he leans back and we part ways, I glance at Kate who seems preoccupied, peering around the gym. "Who are you looking for?" I ask her curiously.

"Mom and her partner, of course." Then her eyes light up at something far, far past me. "Oh, cool. There they are!" She points towards them and waves and as I turn to look myself, my stomach somersaults. "Right over there!"

I look towards the woman and man, who both smile and wave back at Kate enthusiastically.

I know it's terrible of me, but the woman, I find nothing particularly spectacular about her at all. She looks slightly older than the age she should be, which is Christian's age, so I'm assuming her days spent travelling in hot sunny places has had a bit of an everlasting effect on her. I know Kate has shown me Facebook selfies of her, but she looks a bit different in person.

She's taller than her new partner, her hair blonde and wavy. I think I know where Kate got the shape of her eyes from, and it was definitely from her mother. Her partner has a boyish, round face, with a reddish goatee and balding hair. In all things considered, they look extremely happy together and in-love. It just makes me feel even more concerned about Christian.

I try to search for him through the crowd of parents, only I can't seem to find him. Even glancing at the row in the back, he's difficult to spot.

"Well, we better head up and find our seats," Kate says, grabbing my hand. "Come on."

Reluctantly, I turn away and give up on my search, following her through the crowded room. I can't help stressing about him though. I really do hope he's dealing with it OK in seeing his ex again.

I find out that Kate and I unfortunately have to be separated. She finds her seat in G while I have to find mine in S. Surreptitiously I use my walking back to my advantage so I can search for him again. He has to be in here somewhere. He came in with us for goodness sake.

"Anastasia." Someone calls my name and my head darts around to discover it's one of my teachers. "Over here," he says, pointing to the chair. "Your seat is just here."

"Oh. Thank you."

I move to my chair, sinking down into it. But seeing as there is no one up at the stage as yet, I turn back around, glancing for him nervously in the auditorium. My eyes scan the rows and then they land on Kate's Mother again and Christian's ex. I watch her as her partner whispers something in her ear, then they both laugh, her obviously finding something humorous. _But where is Christian right now? Where? He said he'd be at the back?_

I follow another row carefully, searching hard. Some parents look really excited, others bored out of their brains. Then I see him, finally. _Christian._ He isn't quite sitting at the back, but the instance I find him, I realize he's staring straight at me.

I try to give him a look while raising my eyebrows, as if to communicate, _Are you OK right now?_

It's impossible to know what he's trying to say in response. He simply smiles at me, then interlinks his fingers together, crossing his hands and holding them up towards his chin. If he's affected by his ex being in the room in anyway whatsoever, I can't tell.

Turning back in my seat, finally the principle approaches the stage to address us all. The ceremony goes for too long, with a montage being played with photos in our school yearbook in earlier years. I try to bite back the temptation to glance back to check on Christian every chance I get, but I'm still worried.

Finally, when our names begin to be called in alphabetical order to come up to collect our diplomas, I am relieved.

When Kate is called up to the stage, I smile at her and clap before turning around to glance back at what's going in. Christian has stood from his chair to applaud her, and I feel that same nervous sensation in my stomach when I notice her mom and her new partner have as well. I think I see Christian's head turn towards them before he sits back down again, my view of him obstructed by the student behind me. _Crap, did he finally just notice them there?_

Once S comes up in the alphabetical order, I at last hear my name being called. I stand from my chair, rushing up towards the stage while trying not to accidentally trip on my long gown. I allow my eyes to find Christian again after accepting my diploma, relieved that he's stood up from his chair again to applaud even me. Kate's mother turns around in her seat and I see her look at her ex husband. What else happens after that, I can't be sure because the time is gone and I have to hop back down the stage to my seat.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

 _You fucking bastard,_ I think to myself as I watch the back of his bald head as he sits next to her a few rows ahead of me. _I hope you are enjoying being in my place now, you fucker._

I knew this day was going to come where I would finally see the ex again and see for myself who this new guy was in person. I'd known for weeks and weeks in advance that they both would be attending the ceremony, it just takes me a second to wrap my head around actually being here, actually finally being in the same room as them. It feels like I've been waiting years for this moment to arrive and here it is.

I would very much like to kick the bastards ass right now, yet just as I feel like I'm confident enough to make the move and do anything, something always delays it and distracts me. Firstly, my daughter's name gets called.

I stand from the chair, watching eagerly as Katherine starts up the stage. My heart is a balloon, swelling tight with joy, with pleasure. But then _he_ stands as well, and so does she. Of course, her mother has to stand up and I understand that, she's her _mother_. But _him_. He dares to stand up as well?

Gritting my teeth and shaking my head, I try to shake it off, instead focusing on my daughter. I applaud her while trying to appear unaffected, forcing a grin on my face for her. This is about my daughter. This is her day.

Once she climbs back down the stage to take her seat after accepting her diploma, I sink back down into my chair, my head pounding I am that fucking infuriated. What right did this bastard have standing when _she's my_ daughter?

Just as I'm imagining how I'm going to do it, I hear Anastasia's name being called out and decide I'd rather die than miss her accepting her diploma as well. I force myself to stand back up from the chair, clapping loudly as she steps up onto the stage. The rush of happiness I felt for my daughter is different compared to how I feel now. Instead of happiness, rather in it's place instead is... affection? Tenderness? I'm not sure what it is, but something I felt while applauding my daughter is far different than how I feel here for Ana.

I think she catches me standing at the back of the room because an embarrassed smile comes across her face, an incredibly adorable one. God, this girl. This beautiful, beautiful young woman. She'll be the death of me.

I don't what causes me to do it, but for some reason I glance my ex and her new assholes way again. Immediately, I realize she's looking right over at me, looking just exactly as she did the night she left me. She hasn't changed much at all, aside from the heavy tan that covers her skin.

Those eyes of hers scrutinize me, curiously, cautiously. Just 2 casual acquaintances. Like nothing ever fucking happened, not even years and years of marriage together. Nor a child had and created together.

 _Not yet,_ I decide to myself, glancing back up to the stage, realizing Anastasia's already left with her diploma. _Patience. Have Patience. After this is all over, when we're alone..._

 _I'll do it. I'll get to the fucker then._

 _I just can't ruin my girl's day by doing it in front of all of these other people._

20 minutes later and the entire ceremony is over with. I'm surprised I've remained in my seat, that I haven't crippled the fucker. Everyone stands, gathering their things, meeting their children. I notice the ex and her new asshole stand, making their way through the crowd towards Katherine. Do I go as well? Do I confront him now?

But then it's _her_ I see far ahead of them. Ana. Standing alone while holding her diploma. She looks back and sees me standing alone as well, and honestly, thank fuck for her right now. My heart swells with that same feeling as before as she pushes through the crowd to reach me, slipping past Katherine who is exchanging hugs with the bitch and asshole new partner.

"Congratulations, Miss Steele," I say once she reaches me.

She gives me a shy smile as she clings to her diploma. "Thank you. And thank you for standing up and applauding for me as well. I didn't realize how hard it was to not have my mother here until then when it occurred to me that I was literally the only 1 with no parents present."

"Well, it's her loss. She should be here for her daughter." Bending down, I brush my lips against her cheek, my eyes uncontrollably darting to where the bitch and asshole is again. I notice they are talking to Katherine now while her mother keeps looking my way. _What the fuck can she want?_

"Please, don't even think about it, Christian." Anastasia's panicked voice startles me, tearing my eyes away from my ex.

"Think about what?"

"You _know_ exactly what. I know your thinking that maybe perhaps your brawl days aren't quite so over just yet..."

Her words seem to do the trick, surprisingly. I chuckle beneath my breath, all thanks to her. "OK, so _maybe I was_ thinking of how satisfying it would be to punch him so hard it would knock him flat on his ass."

"Well, don't. Kate will never forgive you if you do. Please don't ruin her day and make a scene."

I blink down at Ana, shocked. _Jesus. How can this girl be so fucking intuitive? So wise beyond her years yet so vulnerable and young? It never ceases to amaze me at times._

"Besides, it isn't worth it." Her blue eyes roam back to where the group are, and my own eyes follow to where she's looking. Now _he's_ looking at me, the fucker. Grasping onto her hand while looking right at me. _This_ is who she wants? _He_ was worth it, throwing away a decent marriage and life together? _He's_ the 1 she loves?

Then again, on second thought, maybe it's no surprise truly at all, why she chose _him_ and left me? Her phone call comes back to me, how she said he listens to her, he actually listens and doesn't try to fix things and get to the root of the problem like I do. He _just listens_. And he's evidently younger than the pair of us. Fitter. Handsomer. Everything that _I'm_ not, he's everything that _I_ lack. Clearly.

"There's, um, something I forgot to tell you earlier," Ana mutters quietly, tearing me out of my own inner self-loathing.

I peer back down at her, cocking my head quizzically at her expression. She looks shy, as if she's about to say something incredibly embarrassing. Something I'll laugh at her at.

"What, Ana? What did you forget to tell me?"

"Um, well, you..." I feel like I cannot breath when she steps closer, leaning up towards me. Her mouth finds my ear, her breath warm against my earlobe. "You look _so sexy_ in your suit and tie. That's what I meant to tell you earlier on, only... obviously I couldn't get you alone." My breath hitches in my throat at the sheer elusiveness of her words. Fuck me.

"You think I _look sexy_?" I repeat slowly, leaning back to look down at her. She's biting that plump bottom lip of hers while trying not to smile, her eyes shining up at me with sincerity.

"Well, who am I kidding? It isn't the suit and tie that makes you sexy."

I squint down at her, trying to hear her properly through the crowd of over-ecstatic parents commending their children. "It isn't?"

"No, it's..." She hesitates, her eyes roaming down my face slowly, her front teeth slowly releasing that lip of hers. "It's just _you_. He can't even begin to compare." Be still my fucking heart.

"C-Christian?" It's her. Her voice. "Christian, uh, hi. It... it's me. How... how are you?"

Emboldened by the fact that Ana is standing right next to me, as well as her words, I glance over at her, discovering her approaching us. I realize she looks scared; Her gaze hesitant, her facial expression cautious. Like she's terrified I'll suddenly start lashing out on her in front of our daughter's own student body and teachers.

"Elena," I greet, thankful my voice gives nothing away whatsoever.

"How... how are you? It... it's been a while?"

 _'_ _You look so sexy in your suit and tie.'_

"Yes, it has been a while," I agree.

"Are you, um, well? You look it. H-how about you come over and meet my partner? He-"

 _'_ _You look so sexy in your suit and tie. Well, who am I kidding? It isn't the suit and tie that makes you sexy.'_

"Thanks for the offer, Elena, but I'm not interested in meeting your partner and getting into personal shit." Instead, I reach over, placing my hand on Anastasia's back gently, "I'm actually just here for my daughter and her friend today. Excuse me." Guiding Ana along with me, I suck in a deep breath, then let it all out raggedly.

 _'It's just you. He can't even begin to compare.'_

 _A HUGE THANK YOU TO YOU ALL FOR BEING SO KIND. A HUGE THANKS FOR YOUR PM'S AS WELL, THEY MEAN A LOT TO ME, EVERY WRITTEN WORD AND REVIEW GIVEN. I WILL TRY FROM NOW ON NOT TO BE AS HARD AND CRITICAL ON MYSELF, I FIND IT IS EASIEST TO BE YOUR WORST OWN ENEMY._

 _STILL, HOPING THIS CHAPTER IS OK. AND THANK YOU ALL SO, SO MUCH, YOU ALL ARE SO WONDERFUL IN INSPIRING ME TO WRITE WITH YOUR SUCH KINDNESS, I'M REALLY GRATEFUL. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO SOME (IF STILL CELEBRATING WHERE YOU ARE). HOPE THE START TO THE NEW YEAR IS GOING SAFELY AND WELL FOR YOU! XX_


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

To say I am relieved by how things are going feels like a major understatement. While there is undeniably some tension there between Christian and his ex, some tension over his ex's new partner being present, things seem to be going quite well considering. Even Kate, who glances over between her mother and father, seems utterly relieved that it's somewhat amicable between the 3. No punches or blood has been spilled, which is a good result.

Kate finally comes over to us, noticing the way Christian subtly brushed off her mother's efforts to meet the new boyfriend.

"Hey, dad. Um, Mom and her boyfriend invited me out to get lunch with them. Is that OK?" Although she looks definitely relieved, her nerves are still palpable, almost as if they are my own.

"Of course, honey. That's fine." He kisses Kate on the cheek. "Congratulations, I'm so proud of you."

"Aw, thanks dad. It means the world." Surprising me, she hugs me this time, fortunately unaware that her father's hand is still resting on the middle of my back. Or if she did notice, Kate clearly thinks nothing of it. "Will you be OK if I leave early to have lunch with Mom and her boyfriend?" she asks me softly as I wrap my arms around her, returning the tight hug.

"Yeah, of course. Don't worry about me, Kate. Honestly."

"It really sucks how your Mom couldn't show." Kate pulls away from me slowly, smiling. "Just know that even my dad is proud of you as well, OK?"

"Thanks, Kate."

"I'll drop Anastasia off home, so you don't need to worry," Christian tells her.

Kate seems even more relieved by that. "Great, thank you. Guess I better head off then."

I may be wrong but things still seem a little tense and frosty as Kate's mother moves past us. I glance up at Christian's face nervously, watching the way he watches Kate drift off with her mother, joining her new boyfriend again. He definitely seems uncomfortable, seeing his ex again after so long.

But all in all, as I said, it seems to be a good result. There was no punches thrown, no arguments. I'm so pleased no one made things awkward for Kate on her special day. And also, who am I kidding? I am also very pleased that Christian didn't literally fall down on his knees, begging Kate's mother for a 2nd chance. Why deny that as well?

My entire body seems to sag in extreme relief as I wave back at Kate before she disappears from the gymnasium, off to have lunch with her mother and her partner. The gymnasium after the ceremony is gradually becoming less and less crowded as students and their parents and relatives file out to leave. Honestly, I am so glad that this day has finally come and gone. Well, I feel washed away in a wave of various different emotions actually, as I glance down at my framed diploma that I was handed out, reading it carefully.

There are too many emotions to decipher. A whole lot of relief, also yet a whole lot of apprehension for the future and what this all means now. I've at last finished high school and have graduated. And now, dauntingly, there's college next and basically the whole entire world and an unknown future opened up to me at my feet. I wonder if all graduates feel this way.

"Is it terrible of me that I'm relieved that this is all finally over with?" Christian finally speaks, bringing my attention over to him.

"No, I wouldn't say it's terrible at all," I admit easily. "Funnily enough, I feel exactly the same way as you do. It somehow feels like it's been... forever, how long it took to get here to this very moment." I hesitate, wondering to ask him the question I want to ask him next. But then I decide I have to know. For my own sanity, maybe out of pure selfishness even, I have to know. "How did it feel?" I ask carefully, trying to word the question with care.

"Come on," he murmurs, pressing his hand firmer up against my back. "Let's go." I let him pull me along towards the exit slowly. "How did what feel?"

"You know." I swallow thickly. "Seeing her again. The ex. Are you OK?"

I glance up at his face again. He isn't looking my way, exactly. He's looking far ahead as he leads me out of the gymnasium, but I think I catch something there. A slight internal struggle between his eyes.

"Anastasia, it was... good," he finally answer shortly after some time with a shrug. "I felt..." He trails off, as if figuring out how to word it.

I falter a few steps, waiting on edge. "You felt?" I prompt eagerly.

"Closure, oddly enough." He takes in a deep breath, then lets it all out. "I felt closure. She looked... happy."

She definitely did look happy, I have to agree, but only internally. She looked very happy and rather smitten by her new partner. "And don't you think that's a good thing? That she looked happy?"

I see him consider my words silently, then he jerks his shoulder, shrugging them off indifferently. Or well, I think he's trying to seem indifferent. "I still think it's ridiculous, by the way," he murmurs, changing the subject. He brings up a hand to comb his fingers slowly through his hair in exasperation.

"What is?"

"The fact that your mother couldn't even take 1 hour out of her day to come see her only daughter graduate high school."

"Well, honestly, I'm not surprised that she didn't. I'm used to it."

"Still, used to it or not, it's... ridiculous."

"Well, you were there for me today. And that means a lot to me." I know I have already thanked him and have expressed my gratitude. I just hope he knows how much I actually do mean it.

"Still, that's different," he mutters dismissively. "Your mother should have been here today. It's inexcusable."

We reach his car in the parking lot and Christian fishes his keys out of his jacket pocket, unlocking it. He opens the passenger's side door for me and I smile sweetly up at him in thanks once I settle into the seat. He slams the door shut, then walks around the car to the driver's side.

I don't know why I'm so surprised when, once he starts the car and we're both safely buckled in, he switches on the stereo and Frank Sinatra starts playing from 1 of his CD's yet again. After all, he did say Frank Sinatra was his favorite artist and, honestly, he is quickly becoming my favorite as well.

"Ah, of course," I tease, leaning back in the seat as he does a good check around the surroundings of his car before beginning to reverse out of the space. "Good old Frank yet again. Why am I not surprised by that?"

He gives me 1 of his spine-tinglingly soft chuckles of amusement as he drives down towards the exit of the school lot. "I know. It's terrible, how predictable I am, isn't it?" He laughs again as his gray eyes meet mine. "I'm so boringly predictable, Anastasia. Aren't I?"

"I wouldn't say 'boringly'. That definitely isn't the right word for it."

With an askance look outside the window on my side, I realize Christian is driving in the complete opposite direction than where he has to go to take me home. My stomach clenches in happiness at the realization. I know he told his daughter that he would take me home but honestly I had been hoping to take advantage of it just being us to have some alone time together. By the looks of it, Christian obviously wants to take advantage of it as well, seeing as he now noticed the chance we have.

"This isn't the right direction," I point out meaningfully, turning in my seat to look at him.

"No, Anastasia, it isn't. How observant you are."

"You don't intend to drop me off home right away, do you?"

"Honestly?" A little wicked thrill darts through me as he meets my eyes, his eyebrows arching meaningfully, a mischievous look there coming across his face that I am not entirely sure I have seen from him before. "No, I don't. At least not yet anyway." He licks his lips slowly as he returns his gaze safely ahead of us to the road. "I thought that, seeing as Katherine is being taken out for a celebratory lunch, it is only fair that you are taken out as well."

"But by you?"

"Yes, by me. Is that OK?"

The fact that he even needs to ask... "It's more than OK, Christian. It's perfect, thank you. But you really didn't have to do this."

"Well, I want to," he assures me strongly.

...

"To you graduating and now, moving onto greater, more exciting things," Christian murmurs, lifting his glass of water between us at the table.

I smile, and bring up my own glass, clinking it against his gently. Then I take a small sip, letting the chilled refreshing water slip down my throat.

This is really nice. He took me to a restaurant for lunch about a 20 minute drive away from the high school campus, a restaurant I have never been in before. It's fairly empty at this hour of the day surprisingly, with just 8 other people seated in the room. The dining area is nice and intimate feeling, with a white bouquet in the middle of the table and pretty pricey meals.

We've already ordered, a 3 course meal each which surprised me. 1st course, is something I have never tried before, but Christian sort of talked me into it. Oysters. I don't even know how to eat the things, let alone have I ever tasted a single 1 before. I'm hoping it won't be too difficult though but he assured me I would like them.

"I still can't believe you haven't had a single oyster before," Christian remarks quietly as I carefully set my glass back down onto the table, licking my lips. I peer up at him, finding him staring right at me.

He truly does look sexy in his suit. I wasn't lying when I told him that, though... of course, I find he looks great in anything that I have seen him wear before at the house when I've slept over with Kate. But there is just something about the man in a suit and tie that I find overly sexy.

"It's true and I haven't. I'm sure you'll be surprised to know that there is quite a lot of things I've never had before."

He hums deeply in response, resting an elbow on the table. His fingers rub along the lining of his bottom lip pensively. Things grow silent for a few minutes where we just stare at each other. I guess neither of us are sure what to really say. All I know is that I am so relieved that he didn't take me home the instance the ceremony ended, that we are getting the chance to be alone again. I really don't think I'll ever tire of being alone with him. I feel like I could spend hours with him and even then it wouldn't be long enough.

"So how does it feel?" he finally asks, breaking that silence that has passed between us.

"What?"

"Being a high school graduate. How does it now feel?"

"Daunting," I admit. "But exciting as well."

"I was much the same when I graduated," he admits, his fingers still rubbing around his bottom lip and chin thoughtfully. "I was so nervous and stressed, much like you are probably feeling right now. But you won't be nervous any longer once you finally get admitted into your choice of college. You'll see."

The waiter arrives with our 1st course, the oysters on a bed of ice with lemon slices. It didn't take long at all. Even just scrutinizing the weird-looking things, I have no idea what to even do with them.

"They taste better than they look," Christian says, maybe seeing my unease. "Trust me. They're easy to eat as well."

"Well, I don't know about that. They don't look easy?"

"All you do is firstly squirt some lemon juice onto the oyster. Then you tip it into your mouth and swallow." He reaches over, grabbing the 1st one on the plate closest to him. "Here, if it makes you feel any easier, I'll go 1st and show you how. You can watch me."

Watching him eat? Knowing how much I already enjoy that enough as it is probably isn't a very good idea, but I can't not watch him.

"OK," I agree. "I'll watch. You go 1st."

I watch as he grabs a slice of lemon with his fingers very carefully. He squirts a decent amount of the juice over it, then brings the shell up near his mouth. Hmm, this will be very interesting. Eyes on nothing but mine, he demonstrates very slowly, tipping his head back slightly as he opens his mouth. The oysters slides in but he doesn't chew, he just swallows. And hell, yes, I like watching him eat even oysters. Pizza, sushi, oysters. Anything the man eats is fascinating to watch.

"There, we go," Christian mutters afterwards, licking his lips. "See? It's easy. Now you try."

Spurred on by his encouragement, I reach over, grabbing my own oyster in the shell. I copy him as much as I am able to- squirting the juice from the lemon, then leaning my head back a little.

"Don't chew," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper. I realize he's watching me very closely this time. Or well, more so my mouth. Getting it over with, I tip it back into my mouth, the oyster slippery, salty, and lemony. I swallow, feeling it slide down my throat. And it actually isn't so bad. I lick my lips to get the remaining lemon juice off them, and his eyes follow the movement of even that. "So what do you think, Anastasia?" he asks afterward, his voice sounding oddly an octave lower than it usually does.

"It's actually really yummy. I'd love to have another."

"Then go for your life." I see his eyes brighten at my assessment. "Have as many as you like."

"How old were you when you tried your 1st oyster?" I ask curiously as I reach for another.

He seems like he's trying his hardest not to grin as he thinks the answer over. "I'm sure I was around your age, give or take," he admits uncertainly. "Or even perhaps a bit younger. I remember reacting like you did to the sight of them. They don't look too appetizing at 1st glance, do they?"

"They look like squishy, squirmy sea urchins. That isn't exactly mouth-watering."

"I know exactly what you mean, but... sometimes it does you no good, judging something by its cover." He falls silent for a moment to have another oyster, tipping his head back slightly. The more of them I try, the more confident I feel in eating them. Even if he does have a habit of staring closely at my mouth while I do it. "Do you know who Giacomo Casanova is by any chance, Anastasia? Have you ever heard of him?"

"I think I've heard of him, sure. The name definitely seems familiar."

"Well, he was a notorious Italian author and an adventurer in the 18th century. He was rumored to have bedded over 120 women. He was a master at seducing them." His eyes go bright with that familiar look I've seen Christian have before. When he was speaking to me about music, The Stones concert and Frank Sinatra's life. The personal interest in what he's saying, how engrossed he is in explaining it to me, it's amazing. I can't help being entranced whenever he tells me something like this, something he is evidently so interested in explaining. "He would eat these, you know."

"He would eat these? Oysters, you mean?"

"Yes. Apparently he ate up to 50 oysters each morning for breakfast. Can you imagine trying to eat 50 of these?"

I laugh at the thought of trying to get 50 of these things into me, small as they are. "But why? Why eat that many?" Christian looks pleased I've asked.

"Because, apparently, Giacomo Casanova believed that if he ate oysters for breakfast they would increase his sexual stamina." My eyes widen at his words as I suddenly make sense of him bringing it up. "Hence why they like to call oysters an aphrodisiac. Even Casanova- the notorious 18th century lover and master seducer- needed a little help now and then."

"So is that truly the reason you decided on oysters as 1st course?" I ask, mainly teasing, unable to help myself.

Christian tilts his head to the side slightly as he slowly licks the tips of his fingers, probably to get the juice off them. But an aphrodisiac? Really? "What do you mean?"

"You think it would help you in... that department? I don't mean for the whole 'sexual stamina' thing, but the... the whole other thing? You think you really need a little help?"

He blinks at me. I realize he still doesn't understand what I'm suggesting. "Anastasia, I don't-"

"- I meant what I said before, Christian. I really did," I murmur, my cheeks glowing with heat at remembering. Whispering in his ear quietly so no one would hear us. Being brave again.

"What did you mean?"

"What I whispered to you, at the graduation ceremony. How I..." I explain, but then I have to glance down at the remaining oysters in front of us as a blush spreads even deeper across my face and downwards towards my chest. "How I whispered about how... how sexy I find you in your suit." Mustering up my courage, I raise my eyes, peeking up at him. He isn't looking at me and he isn't eating either; I find him grasping his glass of water tightly in 1 hand, while the other, he uses his index finger to stroke around the rim of it. "I think it's safe to say that you, as you are, anything that you do... you are an aphrodisiac within itself." I've never said something like this to anyone before, obviously. But it is honestly how I feel. I find the man is sexy, period. No matter what.

I watch his face as his eyes close momentarily at my words. Something flickers across his face briefly. What is it? Doubt? Disbelief over what I've said about him, even? But then just as suddenly, his face closes off and it's impossible to decipher his feelings on it. Slowly, he reopens his eyes but I notice he doesn't look at me. He keeps them there on the glass as he traces around it with his finger.

His reactions sometimes, they truly do confuse me. Well, perhaps not so much confuse me but shock me. Enrage me, even. He clearly cannot see how wonderful he truly is. How attractive and sexy he is, even. _Why? Why is it so hard for the man to accept any compliment that comes his way? What made him feel so insecure and unsure of himself? Was it his ex? Did she never tell him that sort of thing?_

"It's true," I whisper, biting down on my lip. "And you are."

He finally speaks, his head shaking side to side the smallest amount. "Anastasia." He says my name like it's a sigh, a breath leaving his lungs.

"But I'm sure you get that all the time..."

He laughs suddenly, startling me. What? Why is he laughing?

"What?" I demand, unsure whether to laugh myself. "What's so funny, Christian?"

"I never get that." His voice is only audible enough that I can hear him. But _never_? "It's been an..." He pauses, bringing up a hand. He runs it over his face, his eyes closing again for a brief moment, a slow sigh escaping him. "It's been an extremely long time since anyone has said something like that to me."

"But your... your wife even?" I'm shocked, I can hardly believe it. Surely he isn't serious. "What? So when you were married, _she_ never...?" I trail off, shaking my head.

Christian slowly meets my gaze as another small chuckle leaves him. "She may of, occasionally," he admits, a tinge of hesitation to speak of her in his tone. "But not... very often. She was more so the 1 that compliments were given to, not the giver. Not when we were... together."

This woman, this... ex wife of his. What has she done to him? What has she done to make him feel this way?

A noise breaks through my astonished, sad wonderings. His phone. He reaches into his pocket, checking caller I.D quickly.

"Shit," he murmurs beneath his breath.

"What? Who's calling?"

"Katherine." _Shit, Kate!_ "Excuse me. Just let me answer this for a moment. It might be important."

"OK. I'll, um, keep quiet obviously."

I sit as quiet as possible as he presses the answer button while holding the phone up to his ear. I can only just hear Kate speaking in the background. I have no idea how she would feel if she somehow was made aware of her father and me, like this, at a restaurant together. How she would even feel if she knew how sexy I found him and how, barely seconds ago, I was telling him that.

I know she would be livid. Extremely mad and betrayed.

"OK, of course," Christian speaks after a pause in whatever Kate is telling him. He brings his eyes up to me, something unidentifiable shining in them. "No, honey, that... that's fine... That's good. Just have a good time, OK?"

I realize I am barely breathing as I stare at him, my muscles tense. I find that I'm afraid that even something as little as breathing would cause her to recognize who Christian is with.

"Of course, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then... Yes, I love you too, baby. Have a good time." At that, he hangs up, ending the call. He slips his phone back into his pocket securely before explaining to me. "Katherine's staying at her Mom's for the night. She won't be home until in the late afternoon tomorrow."

Oh, so Kate's staying the full night at her mother's then. She won't be returning home after having her celebratory lunch with them. I reach forward, gripping onto my chilled glass of water. As I slowly take a sip, I realize Christian is staring directly at me, something there in his expression. A hesitant question almost. _Wait. Is he... asking what I think he's asking? Does he want me to stay with him while she's away?_

Last weekends pleasant events flash by in my mind. His mouth, right down there. His head between my legs.

"Do you want me to-" I begin uncertainly, not really sure if that is what he's silently asking me or not.

"If it's too much trouble or if you'd prefer to go home, I'd understand. _Do you_ want to stay another night?"

"Yes, I'd love to." My response is immediate, certain, without any hesitation whatsoever... because it's true. I do want to stay over at his house with him for another night. Especially alone. I can't apologize for that.

I realize that is deeply what Christian wants as well. Something resembling intense relief flickers across his face, before he purposefully reassembles his features, seeming calmer, less affected. "Then that's good. I would like for you to as well, Anastasia."

...

Back at the house that afternoon, we unwind by sitting next to each other on the couch, watching some TV. Unwind really seems like a bad word for it, because, ironically, I am anything but relaxed. Sitting next to him, the way we're sitting so close, with the side of his body pressed up against mine, his arm resting length ways on the back of the couch, it leaves my stomach in a constant fluttery state of nerves.

I have never been more aware of someone else's physical presence before than I think I have right now. Every time I move my head a little, I feel my hair brush against the skin on his forearm. Every time I so much as move my leg, his leg is brushing back against mine. The flat-screen TV honestly may as well not be on, because I'm not hearing or seeing anything.

All I'm aware of, is him and him completely as he sits next to me. I'm not sure if it's the same for Christian or not or if I'm just being silly, but that is honestly how I feel.

I'm also pretty sure he's wearing some sort of cologne because he smells really nice. Unless it's just him and his smell in general. Some actor on the TV is getting murdered by a street thug with a gun, yet I couldn't care less. I turn my head a little, side-eyeing him from where he sits next to me.

His gray eyes flash in the reflection on the screen and he seems completely absorbed, intent on watching whatever this thing is on.

Maybe it _is_ truly me? Maybe _I am_ being a foolish idiot? Just as that distressing thought crosses my mind, he turns his own head and suddenly he's looking straight at me. He probably felt me staring at him like an idiot. Pressing my lips together and pretending I hadn't been really looking at him, I quickly dash my head back into the direction of the flat-screen. Only _now I_ can feel his eyes lingering on my face and my heart races.

I've been trying my hardest not to overthink things but suddenly, it has become impossible not to. I have been deliberately trying hard not to start evaluating my feelings for Christian. But now that we've been intimate and I know that surely in some ways he feels the same and that he is attracted to me in all the ways that I am him, I've just started wondering whether this is something more, if it could ever be something more.

I know what I want. And what I want is for Christian to be my boyfriend.

It seems rather foolish and reckless to want that, him as my 'boyfriend', because I know realistically he is my best friend's father and already, this is dangerous, this could end so badly if and when Kate finds out. Plus, the man just came out of a rocky divorce and he is obviously still not 100 percent completely over that, is he? So wanting him to be my 'boyfriend', it's a little silly, isn't it?

Besides, I don't want to make a complete fool of myself by asking. What if this is just an exciting fun thing for him with someone younger- his daughter's idiotic friend? What if I'm romanticizing this completely and turning it into something serious when it's not?

But all those questions and doubts aside, all I know is that it's too late. I thought I'd liked him before, when I 1st came home to Kate's and she introduced me to him. But now, that like has turned into something so much, far stronger than what it was before. Could it be that I'm falling for him?

I'm falling in love with him, or at the very least I feel like I am beginning to. I feel like I've really began falling for him and yet, he's my best friends father and she'd totally flip-out if she knew. What's more important- my friendship with his daughter or... this? These most likely irrational feelings?

I toss my head a little, then shove my thumb into my mouth, nibbling down on the thumbnail distractedly as the images on the flat-screen whirl rapidly in my vision. It's just all so confusing. _What am I going to do? What am I even meant to do?_

"Is this the sort of thing you like watching, Anastasia?" His voice is near my ear and I freeze, panicking. What am I meant to say to that? Sure, I've been facing the TV screen but I haven't exactly been properly absorbing anything that has been happening on the screen.

"Um, not really," I murmur while trying to seem normal. "It's a little too... violent for me, I guess."

"Same actually. Here." He reaches over, pressing the TV remote up into my thighs. "You can turn the channel and find something you are interested in if you want to. I'm not really interested in this 1 either."

Grabbing onto the remote, I carelessly start switching the channels over, my head still too preoccupied with thoughts. It's _then_ I feel it and he lets it happen. I'm not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but his arm drops from the top of the sofa to land around my shoulders instead. My heart rate picks up wildly in response as I bite down on my bottom lip with my teeth while trying to seem unaffected by it.

As the channels keep flickering quickly due to me pressing it with the remote, I realize I would rather do something- _anything else_ \- than have to watch the TV with him. I kind of want to kiss him or maybe even make out. Us kissing- it's been a while. Almost a week to be exact, seeing as Kate was here and we couldn't exactly get much alone time.

 _But now that she's gone..._

"Um, I have an idea of something that we could do rather instead of watching some silly TV show," I admit, but my voice is too hesitant, too breathless.

"You do? What did you have in mind?" Christian clearly doesn't even have the slightest idea what I'm hinting to. Maybe that's a good thing.

I find I can't look him in the eye, so I resume with staring at the screen while pressing down on the remote, switching channels. "Well, when was the last time you made out with someone?"

My cheeks redden with heat as I feel Christian sit up slightly beside me on the sofa, his arm instantly tightening around my shoulders, around my neck. It's impossible to know what he's thinking in regards to my comment without looking at him. But I feel like I've surprised him or something.

"Did you really just ask me when the last time it was that I 'made out' with someone?" I catch the restrained humor in his tone, the disbelief.

Bracing myself, I force myself to turn and look in his direction finally. I find his eyes are on me, scrutinizing me intently, like he can't even begin to believe the words that have just left my mouth. His eyebrows are raised, his mouth slightly agape with a smile. The look causes me to laugh.

"You sound so surprised and shocked, Mr Grey, but... yes, I did happen to ask you that. Why the look of such surprise?"

"I guess I just..." He tries to rein his surprise in by pressing his parted lips closed, his eyes narrowing at me. But I can still sense that disbelief there. "I wasn't expecting you to throw that at me, that's all."

"Well, it's an easy enough question to answer, isn't it?" I tease.

"OK, fair enough. And well, to answer your question..." He sighs loudly, glancing away from me for a brief moment, his expression thoughtful. "The last time would have to have been... in freshmen year, I believe. Freshmen year."

" _Freshmen_ year?" Now it's my turn to probably look surprised. But he was married for quite a while? I know he and his wife met in high school and married early at 18, but what? So they never made out together? "So, in all your years of marriage, you both never-"

"We never were really that... _physical_ like that, Anastasia. Plus, things happened so quickly. Before we knew it, we were getting married and... Kate was born. It was extremely fast-paced."

 _Wow, but to have never properly made out? Even just being silly and making out with each other?_

"Well, do you want to make out _now_?" I have to really force myself to be brave, to hold his gaze as Christian licks his lips, scrutinizing me carefully. "With me?"

I flush the instance I hear a short chuckle escape his mouth. _Oh, of course._ _Of course_ what I am asking is childish and juvenile. I should have known he would laugh at me.

"I'm sorry," he breathes after a moment once controlling himself, "I didn't mean to laugh at you. I just didn't expect..." He pauses. "You really want to make out with me- someone my age?"

"I do. But what has age got to do with any of it?" I really don't get what he means at all. "And besides, who knows? It might do your heart some good, acting a little frivolous at your age?" I'm teasing, of course.

He laughs again shortly, a twinkle in his eyes. "Ouch. But good point."

I peek over at him through my lashes shyly, unsure what he wants. "So that's a... yes?"

"It's a yes. A yes to being frivolous even at my age." Surprising me, Christian pulls me over with his arm, until I'm straddling him on the couch, my legs tucked over his, my body leaning against his chest. I laugh as I slowly curl my arms around his neck, eyeing him. But he looks like he's still on the verge of laughing too. "Like you said, it may do this 'old' heart some good." He says it in a playfully mocking tone, which causes me to embarrassingly snort with a fit of quiet giggles.

We stare at each other for a moment, our faces barely a few inches apart, my nose almost touching his. I think this is really about the closest we've had our faces together, sort of in a sense.

I'm waiting for him to make the 1st move, but I also see that he's waiting for me to make the 1st move as well. He's grinning up at me, a smile that makes me feel all tender and tingly. His hand runs gently over my back, stroking me through my shirt, his fingers warm and spread apart.

Keeping 1 arm loosely around his neck, I pull the other slowly back until the very tips of my fingers greet his skin and the warm side of his jaw. He holds me captive beneath his warm gaze for a moment as I slowly caress around his jaw. Then finally, he leans in closer, his lips finding and pressing into mine.

I clench my eyes closed, surrendering into his kissing while I trace and skim my thumb up over his cheek. His stubble feels amazingly prickly against my own skin, a weirdly erotic sensation. Then all too soon he leans back, tearing his mouth away from mine to peer deeply into my eyes. I find we are both breathing just as loudly as 1 another.

And for a second, that's all we do. Just peer deeply into each other's eyes as we both breathe loudly. I am once again enamored by his eyes, by how deep and captivating they are. I honestly feel sometimes like I could stare into his gray eyes for years. I gradually become aware that he has his arm half wrapped around my neck, half off it, his fingers gently stroking the back of my head and my hair. He slowly brings up his other hand until he's holding me beneath my chin, stroking me with his fingertips.

"How I enjoy you, Anastasia," he breathes, moving in again.

But just as I'm preparing myself for his lips to meet mine again, he surprises me by instead simply touching the tip of his nose against the tip of mine. I follow suit, diving in purposefully myself to drag and stroke the tip of mine back against his in response. A weird giggle escapes me.

"I enjoy you so... so much," he murmurs, and as I search his face, I see his eyes are filled with something bright. Some bright emotion resembling appreciation. Joy, even.

"Right back at you, Christian. Mr Grey," I manage through a burning hot, aching-feeling body. "I... I enjoy you too." _Well, no, I know it's more than just enjoy, it's something far more serious than that. It's falling. I've fallen for him. I know I have._

I brush the pad of my thumb gently over his lips, and he lets me, his eyes on nothing else but mine as he blinks slowly up at me. Even above his top lip, I can feel the tiniest trace of delicious stubble there, of prickliness. His lips part fractionally just as I run my thumb slowly over the lining of them for the 3rd time.

This time, when I do it, I feel the warmth, the quick slipperiness of his tongue as he pushes it out through his lips, licking my thumb with it.

"Do you do this with all the boys?" His comment is so unexpected that I almost burst out laughing. _What? Do this with all the boys?_

"What boys? Do what? Tell them how much I enjoy them, Christian?"

"No, I mean... 'making out' with them. Do you do this to them?"

"Um, no." I make a face in horror. "I've never really done this before. I mean, there was never really anyone I liked at high school."

"Then just wait. There's always college coming up, isn't there?" Christian's tone, the edge that has suddenly crept up into his voice. I don't understand it.

"I-I don't understand what you mean when you say that?" I murmur, confused.

"Well..." He licks his lips, uncurling his hand from under my chin. He starts doing the same thing that I was just doing with him, using his thumb, skimming it back and forth over my lips softly. "What I mean is that..." He sucks in a deep hiss of breath, "once you start college, just imagine how many boys will be wanting to do this with you."

I can't. I can't even begin to imagine it. _Besides, what if I don't want a boy or any boy in general to do this with? What if I only just want him?_

"They'll all be lining up, 1 by 1. You just wait."

I feel my brows furrow as I realize what I have to do. It won't be easy though. I'm too afraid to say it, and I was hoping that... maybe, it would have been obvious to him. Clearly not. "What... what is this to you?" I murmur out nervously, finally the 1 thing I have been wondering ever since this 1st started between us a few weeks ago.

"I thought this was... what do you call it?" Christian's voice is hoarse as a slight smile brings up the corners of his mouth. I trace over the faint imprint, the faint smile line with my thumb delicately. "'Making out', wasn't it?"

"No, I know what _this is_ right now." Dragging my thumb away from the corner of each of his lips, I bring it higher towards his right eye. His eyes clench closed automatically as I gently stroke beneath the crease and line of his eyelid, then finally, I smooth it higher up his skin, above his eyebrow, towards his hair. Christian's eyes reopen as I drag all my fingers through his thick hair, combing it back in all the ways I've seen him do it with his own fingers. "But... _us_?"

"Us?" I drop my eyes back down to his face, watching his reaction. His brows furrow slightly, his lips tight together as he swallows audibly. "Why... why does there have to be any label for this?"

 _What? So he... doesn't want anything?_

"I mean, you... you are going to be starting college soon. There will be... distractions." His eyes are dramatically softer than usual as he swallows again. "You'll be away, doing your own thing. You hardly would have any time to think about any of this, of what's... happened between us." Why do I feel like he's just saying that? Or like he is just trying to convince himself of that? "You've got your whole life ahead of you, Anastasia. I think it would be... unrealistic. Naive even, to try to put a label onto this."

Oh. As the meaning to his words sink in, the rejection hits. It's a rather sharp, aching pain in my side, jabbing me, winding me as my face reddens at the humiliation.

 _He doesn't want anything more. And really, who am I kidding? Why would he want anything more? I'm just a silly girl, aren't I? Always wishing for more, never realizing what anything truly means..._

"Anastasia, what I... I mean is that, I enjoy you a lot," he adds quickly, as if somehow reading and understanding the pain written on my face. "I... enjoy being with you. These past few weeks, being together, it's... been 1 of the greatest times of my life. I can honestly say that."

His fingers tighten at the back of my hair, getting a good hold while his hand comes beneath my chin again. I realize his intentions when he grasps me gently, pushing me forward, angling my head up so I can't ignore him and shut down.

"It's been such a long, long time since I've even felt this way before. I'm not even so... sure I even felt this way when I was with _her_." _With her?_ I peek up into his eyes reluctantly. _With her? He means his ex?_ "I mean I..." He pauses, hissing through his teeth, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I don't even think I ever really remember wanting her this way, not in the way that I... I want you."

I really don't understand. I can't understand. Why say 1 thing then go and say something else completely? That he wants me in a way that he never wanted her? I am so confused. But I realize, looking at Christian, into his eyes, his expression, that maybe he's just as confused as I am. He's staring intently at my face as he holds me tight, a hand wrapped in my hair, the other still clutching at my chin.

He stares at me like I'm a crossword puzzle or something of mystery, something he's strangely enough confounded by yet weirdly entranced by all at the same time.

"But _can't you see_ , Christian?" I mutter in frustration, " _Can't you see_ that I want you just as much as you apparently want me? So I don't exactly understand why-"

All my frustration, my hurt, my confusion, it's disrupted when suddenly he bends forward, capturing my mouth with his again, drowning me out. He manages to slide his warm tongue through my lips, into my mouth, and then _just like that_ , it's a brilliant distraction from everything.

For now, he wants me. He thinks he wants me more than he ever wanted her. And I suppose that's enough. For now...

...

"Well, I believe we proved Giacomo Casanova's theory right," Christian murmurs to me afterwards in our place, lying sprawled out on the living room floor.

I'm lying next to him, my head resting against his bare shoulder, various limbs belonging to the both of us comfortably tangled.

The two of us are equally as naked as each other; sweaty and sated, and yet for once, I actually have no insecurities left within me whatsoever. My breasts which have always been a major source of my insecurities are completely bare and uncovered. Yet I have never felt more content and carefree as I do right now, laying next to him.

"Giacomo Casanova's theory?" I whisper questioningly, turning slightly on my side to look over at him.

"Yeah, you know..." He lifts his head off the floor so that he can meet my gaze, his lips playing with a smile. "Giacomo Casanova's theory about the oysters and how they apparently gave him heightened sexual stamina."

The instance he points that out, I make immediate sense of his comment. I laugh. "Oh, yes, those oysters." Although it's hard to move because I feel too relaxed, too heavy-limbed, I force myself to. I sit up slowly on the carpet, propping myself up with my elbow. "I honestly don't think it was the oysters at all though..."

"You don't think it was the oysters?" He arches his eyebrows at me, faking shock, I think. "You _really don't think_ they helped with their aphrodisiac qualities at all?" I have no idea if he's simply teasing or not but I take it that he is.

Now that I'm sort of half sitting up while he's still lying down, I use it to my advantage in eyeing him slowly while making sure he notices all of what I'm doing.

1st, I eye his chest appreciatively, licking my lips at the sight of his toned pectorals, the scars, his flat round nipples and the little smatterings of hair there. _The man is definitely gorgeous and he doesn't even know it._ Then... even lower; His midsection, the defined sculpted lines and hard sinewy curves of his body. His muscular thighs and long legs. _How can he not see that he's the aphrodisiac, it's all him? It has nothing whatsoever to do with oysters and whatever this Giacomo Casanova fellow said._

"There," I murmur, my voice too breathless, too hoarse. "I believe that says it all. I think maybe it had something more to do along the lines of the natural aphrodisiac qualities of the man rather than the oysters themselves."

I hear Christian make a little sharp hissing intake of breathe at my playful but sincerely meant comment. I trail my eyes back up to meet his quickly, eager to see his reaction to my blatant perving, as well as my daring comment. His eyes are wide, something similar to shock or disbelief shining in them. _And he doesn't believe me. Sadly, I'm not surprised that he doesn't._

"You have no idea on not only how hot and desirable I find you to be, but also how amazing I find you, do you, Christian?" I've noticed he doesn't accept compliments too well, that he's so weighed down with his own insecurities. But I feel it has to be said. "Well, it's true and I do."

I look at his face again nervously before finishing my sentence.

"I mean, every time..." I bite my bottom lip uncertainly, a feeling of sudden shyness overcoming me. "Every time you so much as smile or laugh, every time you so much as look at me with your eyes like you even are _right now_...it makes me feel so hot, so... incredible."

His eyes are still wide on me and unblinking as he takes my words in, but... there's something else there as well. That look, I've recognized it before. It is his distinctive look he gets when aroused, a delicious, sexy look. He has it now and it occurs to me that it's because of what I'm telling him. He finds my words, my verbal appreciation of him sexy. Powerfully sensual, even.

"Jesus." The word is a deep, emotional-sounding hum coming from the back of his throat. "Jesus, I am going to..." Reaching up with his hand, he catches me around the nape of my neck and pulls me down, rough but gentle. My head yanked downwards, my long hair falling around us, he catches my mouth with his again, kissing me deeply, gratefully, it feels like. "Jesus, I am going to miss you," he breathes against my mouth deeply.

I let myself fall down onto the carpet on my back with a soft groan as he slides smoothly over me, his long legs and larger feet between mine, his elbows supporting himself upright so he doesn't have his weight on me completely. This kiss feels more deeper than the ones from earlier, more meaningful somehow.

When he finally releases my mouth and breaks away for air, he surprises me by burying the side of his warm face up into the crook of my neck, his breaths ragged, warm. Reaching up with a hand, I manage to weave it around his back, sliding it up greedily, following the outline of his spine, the smooth hard ridges there of his muscles as he continues breathing on me, tickling me. Then I reach into his hair as I feel him start to lay open-mouthed, stubble-rough kisses onto my neck, weaving the soft short strands of it through my fingers gently.

I can only be pleased that his face is covered in my neck, that he can't see my face right now. I am grinning and beaming so hard, it's probably pathetic of me.

"Where am I going?" I manage through hard, laborious breaths of my own, confused. "Why would you miss me?"

"College." He says each word in-between shaky open-mouth kisses on my neck. "Where ever you decide to go." Kiss. "I'm starting to get used to having you around." Kiss. "It won't be the same."

I don't know what to make of what he is telling me, that he'll miss me when I go to college or why he feels it means I won't be here anymore. Only I don't know how to articulate an appropriate response, so I end up remaining silent, simply just using my fingertips to massage around the back of his scalp soothingly, my breathing quick. Eventually, his kisses on my neck die down until he's completely still, his steady breaths ricocheting off my skin.

I realize he's somehow managed to fall asleep on me, with his warm face buried in the crook of my neck while my fingers soothingly caress and massage the rear of his head.

I'm not sure how long I lay there for, being completely still and quiet, just listening- and feeling- the repetitive rhythm of his breathing while rubbing through his hair with my fingers. But a while later, I hear a throaty grunting noise erupt from him, and he stirs, his muscles coming to life.

"Jesus, sorry, honey," he mutters apologetically, bringing his head out from the crook of my neck to peer down at me. He's still half-asleep, squinting heavily, his eyes foggy. "This is what happens when you get me feeling too comfortable. I end up falling asleep right on top of you."

"Hmm." I smile as he sits up, a hand raking through his hair as his gray eyes blink heavily at our surroundings groggily. "I really didn't mind. You can fall asleep on top of me whenever you like."

He obviously isn't sleepy enough not to find humor in my comment. He chuckles his spine-tingling laugh softly; a tinge of embarrassment in the sound. "Come on. Let's go lay down on an actual proper bed," he says, grimacing as he pulls himself up onto his knees.

He offers me his hand once he is completely upright into a standing position, and I take it, letting him tug me along upstairs to his bedroom.

...

Waking up the next morning in his bed, I reach over across the dresser to grab my phone, checking the time and if I have any texts from Kate. It's 9.15 in the morning, which means we've slept in pretty late. When I scroll through my texts, I see that Kate hasn't left me any messages. She's probably too busy with her Mom or is still sleeping herself even.

"Good morning," Christian's voice suddenly says from right next to me on the mattress, startling me. I didn't think he was awake yet.

Turning around, I find him still laying his head on the pillow, but his head is turned in my direction, and he's watching me with my phone. He looks bright-eyed and alert. He probably woke before even I did, considering how bright-eyed and awake he appears.

"Good morning," I murmur back with a smile. "I had no idea you were already awake?"

"Well, I've been awake for a while. Probably for an hour or 2, maybe longer." He licks his lips slowly as his eyes search my face. "I woke before you but couldn't be bothered getting up so I just stayed here, watching you sleep instead. The bed was too warm."

 _He was watching me sleep?_ _Why?_ I feel myself flush at that.

I realize I'm still holding my phone unlocked and open in my hand and, suddenly, I get an idea. A sudden idea, 1 that probably isn't very smart. But for some reason I find myself wanting to do it all the same. Lying back down on the pillow next to him, I huddle closer, enough that my head is nearly resting right on his pillow while my fingers locate the camera icon on my phone.

"What are you doing?" he asks quietly in confusion.

"I just want to take a picture, that's all." On camera setting, I raise my arm, angling it towards the both of our faces on the pillow. I'm not sure if the shot will be clear or not, but I click it anyway, my phone giving off a little shutter and click. "I know it's probably silly but I...I just want to."

Turning my phone over so I can see the screen, I hit the gallery icon and shuffle through my pictures until I find it. My heart warms as the picture comes up; Our heads aren't completely fit together in the photo but it's still us. Me, lying beside Christian on our individual pillows; Christian staring up into the camera, squinting at it, hair ruffled from sleep. I scrutinize my own face curiously. I look so deliriously happy, my face all glowy, strands of my bangs almost covering my eyes.

"You understand that you could never show Katherine that, don't you?" Christian whispers quietly, his voice serious enough that I hear the unmistakable warning in it. "If Katherine were to see that, she'd instantly know-"

"-I would _never_ show her, Christian," I promise him quickly, my pulse suddenly haywire at the thought, my heart pounding in apprehension. "Not in a million years would I. You _know_ I never would. I just... I wanted a memory." Swallowing down my melancholy, I switch the screen off, reaching back over to put it down on the dresser again. Moving back around, I prop myself up onto my elbows to see him better from where he rests, his head still on the pillow. "Do you really think I'd do that? That I'd tell?"

"I know you would never intentionally tell her anything, honey. I trust you. I just..." He pauses, pressing his lips together as a weary sigh escapes his nostrils.

"You just, what?"

Reaching up with a hand, he slowly passes it over his face, rubbing around his forehead, another heavy sigh escaping his nose. "I just worry, that's all. About... how she'd take this." As he finally drops his hand, I see the shining concern in his eyes, the worry. "How her reaction would be."

"I know and I understand that, Christian. I worry a lot too."

My reassurances that my worry matches his own about Kate ever finding out and what her reaction could possibly be must offer Christian some sort of solace, because with a tight-lipped smile, he shifts up onto his elbows, leaning over towards me across the bed. He presses his lips softly into mine- a silent statement of that part of our conversation being concluded.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND KIND, IT TRULY DOES FLATTER ME AND IT MEANS SO MUCH, I AM SO THANKFUL.

ALTHOUGH I TRIED TO BE KINDER TO MYSELF WHEN WRITING, I TRULY AM NOT SURE ABOUT THIS CHAPTER ARGH, IT WAS QUITE DIFFICULT TO WRITE SO I FEAR IT MAY POSSIBLY BE A BIT OF A LET DOWN. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH HOPE IT ISN'T AS I FEAR AND FEEL IT IS!


	22. Chapter 22

IN TOO DEEP

CHAPTER 22

The rest of our morning is fairly slow and relaxed. We make toast and coffee for breakfast downstairs in the kitchen; talking, eating and drinking peacefully. Christian tells me more about what his work entails over buttered toast, and it's actually really nice. It's enjoyable; hearing him talk about what his job position entails at work and just about reasonably mundane, normal every day things in general. We take our time, eating slowly, savoring each bite. He's the 1st to completely devour all of his slices of toast.

I nibble on the corner of mine, enjoying how serenely quiet it is at this time of the morning. Kate doesn't arrive back home from her mother's until sometime in the late afternoon and it's nice to spend time with Christian while he sits there dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs, relaxed and unrushed. Popping 2 fingers into his mouth and sucking off the remnants of melted butter from them- that thing I _always seem to like_ that he does- he grabs his empty plate and slips off the stool in the kitchen, strutting over towards the sink.

Yesterday's events come back to me after he took me out to dinner as his own version of celebrating me graduating as I slowly take my time chewing. How I'd suggested we make out on the couch, how enjoyable and fun it was. And also... my question afterwards, and his explanation to it. I'd asked what this was, and he hadn't felt any need to label it.

Also, his strange question about whether I 'do this with all the boys', whatever that means. Honestly I'm not sure whether to be a little bit annoyed by the insinuation that I'd do what we did together often with other guys, in making out with someone. I haven't, obviously. He's been the only man I've literally liked enough to do anything with. But I don't see the relevance at all in him bringing that up, about how apparently once I attend college, I'll have guys lining up to date me or whatever. What did that have to do with what I was initially asking him- about what this was to him?

I understand I'll be starting college soon, but I don't see how he feels it would be 'unrealistic' or something if we started something serious together. While I can't speak for him and the way he feels, I know personally myself that I wish we could be something more, that I want us to be something more. I want him to be my boyfriend and I wish we could be in a relationship together. I can't see myself wanting that with anyone else yet it's like he doesn't believe me or something. It's frustrating.

I shove the last corner of my toast into my mouth, chewing quickly as I drag my eyes up to where Christian is standing. I'd been so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I hadn't even noticed he was already halfway through doing the dishes already, his back turned to me. Is he scared? I wonder, sliding off my own stool, grabbing my now empty but crumb scattered plate and my cup. Is that mainly what the issue is and why he is so reluctant to label this? Or to get any more... serious in what we are doing together? Is it ultimately because he is scared due to past experiences and hurt with his ex wife? Or am I just... reading too much into this completely?

I slip in beside him at the sink, shoving my own dirty plate and mug in the water. I risk a peek up at him while starting to clean my plate, finding him staring right down at me. It's impossible to know what he's thinking about, his head tilted slightly to the side, gray eyes deep on me.

"Everything OK?" he asks softly, finally breaking the silence between us.

I nod mutely, turning my eyes away, focusing on giving my plate a good scrub with the foamy detergent and hot water in the sink.

"I was thinking about having a shower. Join me?"

His offer for me to join him in the shower takes my breath away. Talk about unexpected. It takes me a second to get my head clear.

Without waiting for my answer, he wipes his hands dry on the dishtowel, then tosses it over the sink. I can only simply stare after him with raised eyebrows as he turns and stalks out of the kitchen towards the bathroom, not even bothering to glance behind him to make sure I'm coming or not.

I deliberately try to prolong the moment by thoroughly rinsing out the sink, then dry my own damp hands hastily on the dishtowel. When I slowly start to approach his own personal bathroom that is attached in his bedroom, immediately I hear the telling sound of the shower fired up and running. I notice he's kept the bathroom door slightly ajar for me, steam slowly leaking out through the crack. Breathing in deeply to not only try and contain my excitement but also calm my nerves, I quickly bend down, stripping out of my underwear. I fling my feet free, kicking them off to the side, then reach up with both arms, chucking the baggy top I'm wearing over the pair of underwear on the floor in his room. Then my bras the last to go; I finally pull down each strap swiftly, yanking my bra off. I let it fall on the floor as well.

The moist steam from the running shower hits my exposed skin as I pad my way barefooted into the bathroom. I see the outline of his body through the shower curtain, through the rolls of condensation from the steam. His boxer briefs lay discarded carelessly on the tiles; I step over them as I sneak towards the shower curtain, my heart beginning to hammer loudly in my chest.

Bravely I reach up, pushing the shower curtain gently to the side, then I step in carefully into the shower with him. My eyes go straight to Christian immediately; Already, he's standing over the hot steaming spray of water that shoots out of the jet, his back turned to me, both arms raised over his head, biceps bulging. He runs both hands through his damp hair, wiping the shampoo or conditioner out.

He truly is desirable, even if he does have doubts about his own attractiveness. His backside, facing me, gloriously taunt and unmarked. Every single thing about the man is frankly amazing in my eyes.

Without warning, Christian leans back out of the spray, wiping the water off his face and out of his eyes with his palms. Finally he turns his head, his gray eyes finding me standing there observing him, equally as naked and exposed, at last. Beads of water roll down his cheeks, down his chin, as he stares at me silently for a moment, something there in his eyes.

"Nice of you to finally join me," he murmurs after a moment, his voice strangely hoarse, deeper-sounding than normal. It takes all I have not to glance down out of nerves when I notice his eyes very slowly roam up and down my exposed body, over my breasts, my thighs. Then he slowly moves back, making himself smaller somehow, squaring his shoulders as he leans pressed up against the wall, "Come over here and come under the water, Anastasia. You'll warm up then."

He doesn't need to tell me twice; Biting down on my bottom lip, I step closer, until my skin is directly beneath the spray. It feels so good, and he's right. The instance I get under it, I feel warmer and less shivery. Better.

"That's so good," I murmur softly beneath the spray, enjoying it. "There's never anything like having a warm shower in the morning."

"I couldn't agree more with you," he murmurs.

I bend my head slightly, allowing the strands of my hair to get completely saturated. Then Christian surprises me with what he moves to do next. I see out of the corner of my eye 1 of his arms reach out near me, then I hear the unmistakable sound of a bottle of shampoo or conditioner being squeezed.

He does something no one has ever done for me before; Aside from perhaps when I was extremely little, when my mother probably did it for me as a child who couldn't do it herself. Suddenly he is massaging the back of my wet scalp with his large hands, lathering shampoo deeply into my hair. I allow my eyes to close, relaxing at the sensation of his hands and fingers massaging my head, shampooing my hair up.

"Turn around," I hear him say quietly and still keeping my eyes clenched closed, I do, turning blindly towards him. He cups over both of my ears gently with his hands, and then I feel him tilt me back towards the running water, droplets tickling me as he helps rinse the shampoo lather out. "Let me help wash you," he says afterwards, and I let my eyes squint open a fraction to see him reaching for the soap now.

He lathers it up between his hands into foamy suds, then puts his hands on my body, beginning with each of my shoulders, then down along my arms. I never knew something like this could actually be so pleasant and nice; having someone else in the shower with you, letting them wash your hair and then use their hands to gently yet firmly cleanse every single part of skin on your body. There's also something erotic about the whole experience as well; As Christian bends down on his knees and reaches up, focusing on lathering and stroking down below my belly, to the tops of my thighs and my ankles, I feel my breath hitch in my throat as I reopen my eyes to glance down at him, watching him on his knees.

On his knees, so focused and absorbed in washing every single part of me clean, of rubbing me down, it's... sexy. So attentive and romantic. When he grasps onto my left foot, he brings it up, getting me to rest it on his kneecap. I have to reach down and cling onto 1 of his broad shoulders for balance as I do so. He starts rubbing around my foot with his strong fingers, leaving no single place on my naked body untouched in the shower.

I can't remain quiet for long, not when he turns his attention to my right foot, getting me to lift that 1 up and rest it on his kneecap as well. His fingers brush against the arch of my heel and around the pads of my toes, and it's then the ticklish feelings surface. A low, soft giggle escapes me at his touch and I can do nothing but grin when at last Christian lifts up his chin, turning his gaze back onto me, meeting my eyes.

"Somebody is ticklish," he observes like he's found out a major secret about me.

"My feet," I admit, a little strangely embarrassed. "Whenever someone goes near my feet, it always gets to me."

"Hmm. Good to know."

I notice the shining gentleness in his gray eyes at the sound of my laughter, the way the corners of his mouth curls slightly in mirth.

"OK, well, that's enough with tickling my feet and washing me," I manage through breathless laughter, closing my arms over his elbow, trying to yank and motion for him to stand back up in the shower. As he does, I reach for the soap like he did, lathering it up with my own hands. "I want to wash you too," I murmur, reaching over to place the soap back into its little place. "I mean, seeing as you only just done me, I figure it's only fair I return the favor after all, isn't it?"

Christian doesn't say anything in response, but he lets me do what I want in return.

I watch his face as I place my soapy hands on each of his broad shoulders, then I start to run them slowly along, up his neck, down his toned pectorals, those scar marks and his defined hard muscles. His lips part slightly at my touch, a bead of water rolling between his lips, into his mouth. As I reach his hips, his groin and pelvis area, I see the muscles in his throat twitch as he swallows loudly, his breathing beginning to sound louder, harder.

"Is this OK if I do the same for you in washing you too?" I ask cautiously, reaching down, letting the backs of my trembling fingers on my right hand brush against the firm, slippery skin on his upper thigh.

"Do whatever you want, Anastasia," he murmurs, that tight, strained tone still to his voice. "You won't get any complaints from me, I promise. You are the one in the driving seat right now."

 _I'm the 1 in the driving seat?_

"Oh? So I'm the one in the driving seat right now?" I tease, unable to help my amusement at his words. "Strangely enough, I find I like the sound of that. Maybe even a little too much..."

He gives me 1 of his spine-tingling chuckles, making me smile. Just like that, he's made me feel braver, more bolder.

As I kneel down, doing what he did in getting down on his knees near the shower drain to rub his hands back and forth over my legs, copying him, I come face to face with the erection I realize for the 1st time that he's sporting. It reveals to me how much he likes this, the fact I'm touching him, washing him with my own hands myself. _He obviously enjoys me being the '1 in the driving seat' more than just a little..._ I peer up at him from where I am, down on my knees, massaging the deep firm muscles on the back of his thighs. He's staring right down at me, his hair darker and flat from the water, his face dripping.

"I like you doing this, touching me," he confesses, his voice breathless. "I like the way your hands feel on me."

I swallow, feeling heat gush at my cheeks. "I liked how your hands felt on me too. I like you touching me as well." I brush my fingers down his calves. "Are you ticklish on your feet too?" I'm probably far more curious than I should be about this. "Let's see, shall we?"

But Just as I'm reaching down to touch his bare feet, he surprises me by reaching down himself, both of his much larger hands coming down to close over the sides of my head, my cheeks. He grasps my face in his hands, pulling upwards slightly, motioning for me to stand back onto my feet, I think. Ungraciously, I stand, bringing myself up unsteadily, his hands still cupping my face tightly. Then he leans down, kissing me while holding my face.

It feels unusual but nice, our lips touching, mashing together when wet. I taste something that I can't tell is either the water from the shower or his own saliva. Reaching across, I curl my arms around him, flattening them along the hard ridges and tendons in his warm back, pressing myself close. I feel my breasts flatten against his own nipples, our own skin rubbing together, sliding, slipping with the water cascading over us.

"You are so gorgeous, you know that?" he murmurs against my mouth. "So... so gorgeous."

" _You_ are," I murmur back, my voice muffled against his own mouth.

Unwinding my arms from around his back, I blindly find his hands that are still clasping my head tightly, running my palms down along them, then his forearms, up towards the elongated muscles of his biceps, caressing him.

Suddenly Christian bears all his weight onto me with his body and I stumble back, the length of my spine, my bare buttocks and backs of my thighs colliding with the cold shower wall tiles behind me.

He keeps me pressed up against it as we kiss, my lips parting, his head tilting as his tongue delves up into mine heatedly. I catch myself trembling- not from being out of the aim of the hot shower water or due to coldness, but for another reason altogether. It's his kisses, the fact that his body is completely up against mine, that causes me to tremble and shake uncontrollably. I can't see it possible for any other male to be able to rouse this reaction out of me in the future.

I feel several of his fingers weave and tangle into the wet strands of my hair at the back of my head, then he yanks a little, leaning back with his head, disengaging our mouths. I reopen my eyes instinctively as I lick my lips, my breathing heavy and disjointed as I focus on him, the constant sound of the shower water a forgotten background noise as he holds my gaze. We stare at each other for a moment; Christian seeming just as breathless as I am from our kiss.

When I drop my head back in exhaustion, letting it rest against the cool hard tiles behind me carelessly, eyes still on him, I see his gray eyes focus down on my mouth as I drag my tongue over my lips slowly, moistening them.

As he brings his eyes back up to meet mine, I see his eyes flutter and blink suddenly, as though he's taken aback for some reason or another.

Beneath his stare, his silent scrutiny, I feel tingly and warm. Like a cat stretched out, relaxing beneath the invigorating hot rays of the sun. I definitely can't imagine another man making me feel like he does simply by looking at me either.

"What?" I bring myself to ask self-consciously as he brings up his other hand and begins tracing his thumbnail gently along my wet chin. "What's with the deep and intense look?"

"I'm sorry. I just..." I am rewarded by another chuckle as he narrows his eyes at me thoughtfully. "I am just in such awe of you... of _this_ ," he whispers, shaking his head a little as if to demonstrate his awe.

"You are in awe _of me_?" My voice goes weirdly high with disbelief as I arch my brows at him, a nervous laugh of my own escaping me. His words, they are unexpected. _What is there to be in awe about? Anyway, it's incredibly sweet._ "Why? Why would you be _in awe_ of me, Christian?"

"I'm not quite sure. All I know is that... I just am." His voice is only just audible over the shower as drags his thumb up my chin, over the lining of my smiling mouth gently. "If anyone had ever told me I would be doing this... that this would even be happening." He shakes his head again, his eyebrows arching as if in surprise. "I never once imagined this happening in reality and yet, here it is. 1 of the greatest yet... flabbergasting moments of my life. "

Christian's words come back to me from our silly 'making out' session on the couch yesterday afternoon and his reluctance to label what is happening between us. I know what I want, and what I want is him. Him, as my boyfriend- even if it may be something childish or unrealistic to ever happen.

I just cannot understand why he didn't feel a label was necessary. It would be nice to know where his feelings lie and what it is exactly that he sees in his own version of a future for us. Does he not like me enough, yet he's happy to sleep with me? To do things with me now like this, even in the shower? To tell me he's in 'such awe' of me, yet apparently, it's not enough for him to actually consider something serious and meaningful with me?

Honestly I think I am even a little insulted by what he said yesterday but he probably doesn't know that. How he implied on the couch that we didn't need a label, that I'll be off at college, like it would make any difference on what I truly want. I sort of felt like he was dismissive of what I was asking, that because I'm young, this is just something frivolous and casual that I am doing with him when I wish for it to be something so much, much more than that.

He even commented about me having boys lining up for a chance to date me at college. Like, I hardly feel that would be the case and even if so, he's over exaggerating. It's like... so what? He thinks I'm the type of girl to fool around with all guys eventually if any do so happen to have interest in me? He thinks I'm that sort of girl even when I know that I'm not?

"You look very deep in thought right now?" Christian comments a moment later through the shower water, bringing me back into the moment.

I blink at him slowly through my lashes, my vision coming back into focus. I find him watching me still, 1 hands fingers still twined carefully in the damp strands of hair at the back of my scalp, his other still in front of me, thumb stroking around my chin and my bottom lip.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, sounding very eager and curious to know. I part my lips after swallowing nervously and he pushes in the tip of his thumb between them, it gliding over my bottom row of teeth. "Where are you right now?"

I catch myself feeling hesitant to bring it up, anxious knots immediately forming in my stomach. Somehow it's so hard to speak about it, to bring the topic of feelings into the light. _Is it always usually this hard to speak about your feelings to someone else? Even to someone that, since a couple of weeks ago when this started between us, has been the 1 man I've been most intimate with for the 1st time in my life?_

He's made me orgasm. He's seen me naked like I am even right now, in the shower with him, freely exposed with my breasts and private parts down below. He's even... I flush at the memory... He's even tasted me, had his mouth on me right down there. He's done such intimate, wonderful feeling things to me and yet, I cannot even bring myself to ask him how he truly feels about me? Why do I even feel so afraid to suddenly explain to him how he offended me what he implied yesterday on the couch after making out?

"Ana, honey?" His voice becomes tight with concern. "There looks like there is something you want to ask or... tell me? What is it?" Apparently he can read me better than I thought.

I want to ask it so badly and yet... I realize I can't. I'm too afraid to hear what his response will be. I can't bring myself to ask it while he's staring directly at me, so instead, I force my lips to widen into a smile, hoping I seem sincere enough to him. "It... it's nothing," I tell him. "I think I'm just ready to get out of the shower now."

I'm not entirely sure whether Christian believes me or not. He stares at me deeply for a moment longer, lines developing over his forehead as he creases his eyebrows at me. My heart has began pounding furiously inside my chest. That unpleasant knot is still there in my belly. But then finally, at last, he untangles his fingers gently from the strands of my hair, moves back away from me so he isn't touching me anymore, and then he reaches out, shutting off the shower.

I find I can breathe much easier as I hastily step out of the shower, blindly reaching for a clean towel. With my back towards him, I find it's easier to regain my courage to be truthful. "I just... I was just thinking back to what you said yesterday, that's all," I finally murmur, keeping my eyes on anything else but at him.

I hear him step out of the shower himself, his bare feet slapping against the tiles as he moves around me, grabbing a fresh towel of his own. "Which thing did I say in particular, Anastasia?" he asks, sounding nothing else but innocently curious.

Although my eyes are fixed on nothing else but my hands as I start using the towel to bend down, rubbing and patting my legs dry, I still catch him in my peripheral as he uses his own towel to rub and dry his hair with both hands. I don't even need to properly look towards him to know that he is standing completely and utterly naked and exposed while waiting for me to explain my point further.

"I said many things yesterday. You are going to have to be more specific on which thing you are referring to?"

"How you said that you don't think we need a label for this and that... soon I'll be off to college?"

"Well, you _will_ be off to college. And so will Katherine."

"But that isn't exactly my point, Christian." I try to suppress the frustration bubbling up to the surface at his misunderstanding me as I pat beneath my armpits dry hastily. "I mean, you said that... that in college boys will be lining up for me, 1 by 1. As if I even truly care about that or anyone else?"

He says nothing in response, so I am forced to finally look his way to check whether or not he's truly listening and following me or not. Reluctantly, I bring up my eyes to him, looking back at him. Christian stands there, watching me, his eyes narrowed, mouth slightly parted in something resembling a mixture of both confusion and bewilderment as he casually wipes himself dry with the towel. For once his hair is unkempt and messy from how he ruffled it up with the towel to dry it. _How good he looks, even standing there naked with ruffled hair, it doesn't exactly help my cause any._

"Anastasia, I'm sorry but I'm not sure I understand what you are trying to say? Whatever it is, I can see that you are feeling upset or frustrated with me in some way, I'm just not... sure I understand what it is that I've done." It must be an age thing or something, but he sounds so reasonable and calm, something that oddly only serves to make me feel even more irritated.

"When I asked you that day on The Grace to be my 1st, it wasn't because I simply wanted the experience for the 1st time and to lose my virginity, Christian. I chose you to be the 1 because I... I like you and I feel... deeply attracted to you in ways that I have never felt before for anyone."

I take a deep, unsteady breath as I wrap the towel tightly around my chest, covering myself up securely. It occurs to me that my fingers are shaking as I use them to comb through the dripping wet strands of my long hair carefully.

"I felt almost... insulted by what you said, how you asked whether I'd made out with other boys, how you asked whether I do this to them when you know for a fact that I'd chosen you and you alone to experience this with."

I inhale in another uneven breath as I anxiously lift my eyes up to him again. I find he's standing still exactly where he last was, even with the unkempt hair and the towel bunched up between his hands. His expression seems focused and attentive as he stares at me, blinking slowly. I realize he's truly listening, hearing what I'm telling him as I state how I feel.

"I _know_ that I'm a lot younger than you and I _know_ that you've experienced a lot more lessons in life than I have. I _know_ that you've probably... done and felt more than me, but just because you are older it doesn't make how I feel or what I want any less valid." At the last bit, my voice gives out and cracks in a mortifying way in front of him. I hope I don't start crying in front of him. It would be excruciating if I lose complete control over my emotions right now.

"Then I'm sorry if I upset you," he says slowly after a moment, sounding caught off-guard. "I didn't realize I had. I never realized I made you feel like your feelings or wishes weren't significant." A moment of silence passes between us, then he continues ruefully, "I hadn't meant to make you feel as though I weren't taking you seriously." I'm not expecting him to apologize. I'm not intending to make him feel bad. That isn't what I want or what I even meant by bringing it up at all.

"I'm not looking for an apology, Christian," I murmur impatiently, turning towards the toilet near the shower. I close the lid, then sink down slowly onto it with a sigh, my heart feeling heavy. It's just so hard. So hard to explain. "I just... I _wish_ you knew how I _feel_."

"Then _how do you feel_ , Anastasia? _How_ am I _meant to understand_ what you are trying to say if you don't _come out_ and _directly_ say it?"

I stare down at my hands as I interlink my fingers together, holding them over my lap against the towel. For the 1st time, Christian actually sounds angry. Although his voice is kept under control and level, I hear a tinge of annoyance seeping through with the words. I have never truly seen or heard him angry before, in all the times I've stayed at Kate's house or have been around him. _Shit, now I'm making him mad._

"Just... what do you want from me, Ana?" His helpless voice catches my attention. I spare a quick glance up at him from my hands. He isn't looking at me; He shakes out his towel roughly, then folds it over his waist, tucking it in tightly. Then he brings up a hand to rake it through his still damp hair, exasperation rolling off him in waves. "I don't know what you expect from me? I don't know what you want from me?"

As he glances my way it takes me everything to not glance back down at my hands out of both shame and intimidation due to the raw emotion blazing in his gray eyes, as well as the unconcealed frustration and desperation in his expression. I have never seen him look so stern and irritated before.

"I... I don't want or expect anything from you, Christian," I whisper nervously, swallowing against a hard lump that has formed at the back of my throat thickly. "I just... I want to _make it clear_ to you on how I feel." I can feel moisture building in my eyes as I force myself not to break his gaze.

He must notice it too because suddenly he sighs, his expression softening dramatically. Without a word, he strides forward until he reaches where I am, hunched over the closed toilet seat. Then he drops down to his knees gingerly. I can't help automatically tensing when he does it, kneeling so close to me from where I sit that his bare stomach brushes against my own knees as he shuffles his way in between my legs, crouching close.

I eye him warily, strangely afraid he might unexpectedly lash out and bite as he brings up a hand. He only covers it over the both of mine, his long thumb and forefinger starting a soothing stroking pattern over my wrist as he sighs again heavily.

"While I... I've never felt it in the past or have ever had it happen before, I think I know what I'm feeling." I have to get it out before I lose my nerve. I stare at nothing else but his own larger hand and much longer fingers as they resume stroking my wrist and the back of my hand gently. "And what I feel like I'm feeling is that I'm close to falling completely in love with you."

There, it isn't so hard, getting this off my chest, I suppose. It's nerve-wracking and honestly, I feel like I want to vanish in thin air out of sight and I feel strangely vulnerable, as if I am baring myself naked to him again but in an entirely new way that's from on the inside rather than on the outside in the flesh.

"I was wondering... how you felt about me?" I force myself to get out, not quite brave enough to glance up at his face to see his reaction to my confession just yet. Now it's time for honesty. Now it's time to know hopefully how _he_ feels about me in return as well. "Or is this maybe just a casual thing for you? Like a... a sex thing? Something... fun and" - what's the word? - "frivolous?"

I feel like I am barely even breathing out of sheer dread and nerves for his response when Christian leans down, the back of his head and his hair coming into view by the way he angles it.

I realize when he's doing when I feel his lips touch and tenderly brush against my hands, my heart seizing up. As he slowly leans back on his knees, he lifts his face, his eyes meeting mine. It's impossible to know what he thinks or feels on my confession. It's even all the more impossible to know what he's saying by his actions. So he's kissed my hand. _But so what? What does he mean to tell me by doing that to me? Is it a way to soften the blow of his rejection?_

"Ana." His voice as he says my name is like a gentle sigh as he pulls back, his eyes meeting mine again. "I enjoy being with you so, _so much_. The way you make me feel- it's something I never thought or expected I could possibly feel ever again." He smiles a small, spine-tingling smile at his own words, then pauses for a moment, as if searching for the most simplest and right way to explain.

I'm still catching my breath, waiting for the agonizing rejection to begin.

"I never... thought someone could make me feel the way I once did when I met... _her_ at the start." I know immediately who he's referencing to. Her. The ex wife. "You know what I think about when I'm at work or... when I'm alone? The 1st thing that pops up into my head lately these past few weeks?"

I have no idea what he is going to say but the light shining in his eyes, it reassures me somehow.

I shake my head, pressing my lips together tightly. "No. What?" I breathe shyly.

"I think about... you."

I find myself blown away by the warmth in Christian's eyes, the tenderness and sincerity in his voice and in his smile. It's so hard not to beam. I wonder if he can notice the blush that creeps its way across my cheeks, if he notices how probably pathetically happy I am at his words.

"I find myself thinking about you constantly, wondering... what you are doing or just thinking about what we got up to the weekend before, reflecting on everything." He pauses for a second, licking his lips to moisten them, his eyes narrowed in seeming contemplation. "I used to feel like a complete failure and loser, that my life was essentially done and I would never feel happiness ever again."

My heart clenches at his words, at what he is choosing to tell me. I don't understand it at all. "Why would you even begin to think that about yourself? Why would you think you are a failure?"

"I put a lot of or pressure and expectations on myself, especially when it came to my family life and my marriage." Oh. His divorce. "When _she_ left, when I found out she was seeing another man- as you know- it destroyed me. I felt like even more of a complete and utter failure. I couldn't even hold my marriage together, I couldn't even make _her_ happy. _She_ went for another man over me and I hated myself for it, for being so... weak, so pathetic." He shakes his head, lost in reflection. "But then now, I don't feel that way anymore. I can honestly say that, these past few weeks- with you- they hasn't crossed my mind even once, those thoughts."

Pleased by what he's telling me, that he's not being so negative towards himself anymore, I can't help the smile that comes across my mouth.

"Then that's good," I whisper. "You shouldn't feel that way about yourself."

Raising a hand, I reach towards his face, cupping 1 side of his jaw gently with my fingers. I watch as Christian's eyes close briefly at my touch, a small sigh coming through his nose as his jaw muscles twitch against my fingers.

" _You_ make me not feel that way about myself," he murmurs, his eyes still clenched closed. "I never even knew it but... _you_ are exactly what I need. _You_ are exactly what I've been missing this whole entire time." His face tilts and angles into my hand a little more, as though he is reveling in my touch. My heart warms as he slowly reopens his eyes to stare at me. "To answer your question, Anastasia, I feel exactly the same way," he breathes at last as his eyes remain on mine intently.

I almost feel as though I'm hearing him wrong, yet my heart splutters manically inside my chest. "You- you what?" I'm filled with disbelief and uncertainty. What if I've heard him wrong and I'm imagining him saying it back to me? Heaven knows I've wished enough lately for him to say it back, that he reciprocates my own feelings, that he's falling for me as well.

"Yes," he murmurs, licking his lips again. "I think I'm falling in love with you." I can't even contain how jubilant I am at his words. A huge smile comes across my mouth at his words, my relief and joy probably palpable to him. "Well, no," he continues, cocking his head, still letting me pat and stroke around his jaw, "I _already know_ I have. You've been driving me crazy."

The playful yet sensual deep growling noise he makes at the back of his throat at me to imitate how much I am driving him 'crazy' pushes me over the edge and I giggle, unable to hide my glee any longer. I lean forward hastily on my perch on the toilet seat, pressing my lips to his, blinking heavily through strange emotional tears. My heart, my chest, it feels swollen, swollen and achy at his confession.

"Does that set your mind at ease now, Anastasia? Knowing how I feel?"

"It does _so much_ , thank you. Thank you for telling me."

 _But there are still other things I'm unsure of..._

"And what about college though?" I murmur as I move my hand, gliding it through the side of his soft hair, downwards towards the nape of his neck.

I press down with my hand, cupping his nape, keeping my lips against his. My question comes out muffled as I swallow his own breaths into my mouth as he inches back a fraction, a thoughtful hum vibrating through his mouth to mine.

"What about it?" he asks.

"Well, what happens? Will you... see me sometimes? Will you... make time for me?"

"Will you make time _for me_?" he murmurs back in a low voice, directing my own question back at me. I can barely refrain my laughter at how we are speaking to each other with our lips still pressed together. "Among your busy schedule, your... college work, your new friends as well as settling into a completely new environment, will you have time for me?" He sounds uncertain. Hesitant to ask, even.

"Hmm, let me think that over for a moment." Leaning back with my mouth, I make a face, pretending to think it over contemplatively for a moment while secretly I'm incredulous that he even has to ask. "That's a very difficult question to answer. _Will_ I be able to make time for you once my new hectic college life begins?"

Apparently I am more convincing at acting than I thought, because I see Christian's face deflate slightly bit by bit.

I can't help it; I burst out laughing, spoiling my own playful teasing as I stroke the nape of his neck, scratching and twisting the little hairs at the back of it with my fingernails. "Did you _really have_ to ask? _Of course_ I'll be able to make time for you! Yes!"

Reassured by the realization that I'm just being silly, Christian makes a low, sexy noise in his throat again as he gives me his spine-tingling smile, "Oh, you. Way to almost give me a coronary." My laughter is muffled and cut off when he bends forward, kissing me.

Although this moment feels slightly too good to be true, I let myself think of nothing else, simply focusing on kissing him back, getting lost in my own probably immature, dizzying, love-struck happiness.

Now that I know for sure what this is between us, my mind is definitely at ease, like he asked. I cannot imagine there being anyone else but him and I know college can't change that. I just hope that, eventually and if things do work out all right between us, my best friend and his daughter won't feel utterly shattered and betrayed.

I HOPE THIS ONE ISN'T A HORRIBLE CHAPTER. ESSENTIALLY IT IS MOVING US TO A TIME GAP WHERE THE NEXT STAGE BEGINS- COLLEGE, HARDSHIPS, AND TRYING TO HIDE THEIR RELATIONSHIP FROM KATE UNTIL READY TO DIVULGE IT TO HER. LOTS OF DRAMA COMING UP AHEAD, I HOPE YOU STILL HAVE INTEREST IN THE STORY AND THAT THIS CHAPTER WASN'T TOO CHEESY! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE.


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

 **IN TOO DEEP**

In what is an incredibly hectic time, Kate and I begin at Washington State University together.

It's been a blur of a couple of weeks, dealing with new class schedules and teachers and meeting new students, as well as settling into the single apartment near college campus that we share together as roommates.

A week in and Kate already seems to adjust to everything so much more effortlessly than I am able to; She blends in easily, making new friends in each one of her classes while I basically only make one in Jose, the guy I was familiar with from in high school. Jose and I end up having a few classes together like English and Human Development, which makes it easier to cope with all the changes happening around us. Fortunately for me, Jose seems to be struggling just as much as I am. Kate and I only end up having one class together; Fine Art. At least I end up getting the hang of it quickly into finding which building the classes are in, the Science & Engineering building being the main one.

Sad thing is, I find I barely have enough time to even begin missing Christian. My mind is constantly preoccupied that week with settling into the new lifestyle of college life. Even living alone- or well, sort of alone- in apartment with Kate where we have to learn to fend for ourselves is a challenging distraction.

But it's always at night, when I'm in bed in my small room in the apartment, completely alone, that the painful aching of missing him begin to truly hit me. Lying in my bed in the dark room, switching on my phone, staring at that picture I took of us with the camera- the one of us lying together, in bed, the morning after. It's practically the only one thing I have of him, the only one thing as a reminder of what we've experienced together, the one thing that keeps his face fresh in my mind properly throughout the week.

He said that he would give me at least a weeks space to settle in and find my footing at the campus before he would contact me, but it's already been a full, excruciatingly long first week and already, I am beginning to wish he would make some form of contact already.

Only every time this week, every time I glance at my phone for any signal of a message received from him, there's.. _. nothing_.

...

Not surprisingly, I become assigned designated chef in our apartment.

Waking early on our first weekend on a Saturday with the whole entire day free and no classes, I get up and dressed and begin making Kate and I a nice breakfast consisting of fried eggs and wholemeal toast. It's taken us a little time gathering all the essentials we would need for living in an apartment together, but I think we've managed.

Some of our belongings, mostly clothes, are still packed in boxes, pushed near the wall by the front door of our apartment because we have been too busy with settling into our class schedules to even begin mustering up the energy to begin unpacking them. So we've just left our clothes as they are. The kitchen is all unpacked at least.

I find the utensils and frying pan easily, flicking on the electric stove while Kate makes us our hot drinks; An English Breakfast tea for me, an extra strong coffee for her. Kate seems tired and lethargic this morning as she stirs sugar and creamer into our drinks; Her usually pale skin blotchy, blonde hair frizzy and all over the place, unbrushed. She's still in her slippers and pajamas while I'm already changed and feel bright and alert for the Saturday ahead of us.

"You feeling OK?" I ask her with concern as I crack open some eggs, splattering them into the warmed frying pan.

"I don't know," she mutters with a deep yawn. "I think the stress of this week is finally starting to get to me. Cramming in all this study and filling my brain is beginning to wreck havoc on my system."

"Well, you were doing so well," I compliment her while shoving two slices of bread into the toaster. "You wouldn't think you were stressed out by the change at all. You seemed so composed and energetic this week."

"I feel anything but composed and energetic right now, that's for sure." She places my mug of tea on the table while nursing her warm mug of coffee in her hands, her shoulders slumping over the table glumly. "I think tonight's gonna be an early one for me already. I think I'll be having an extremely lazy, extremely easy weekend in the apartment to recoup from it all."

"Maybe you'll feel better after breakfast then," I tell her hopefully.

"God, I hope so." Distracting us, her ring tone goes off from in her bedroom. Someone's calling. With another yawn and a roll of her eyes sleepily at me, Kate pads her way clumsily into her room to answer her phone. She greets the caller without enthusiasm, and I listen in as she comes back out of her room. "Yeah, we're doing OK so far, I think. But it's only been one full week and, already, I am dead tired..." I turn my back on her while flipping the eggs over in the pan. "Yeah, we're coping OK...Ana's doing pretty good."

I turn to glance over at her curiously from behind my shoulder at the mere mention of my name, wondering who she's talking to. I feel my heart pick up in speed and race within my chest as stares at me while listening to the person speaking on the other line. Is it her father? I can't help wondering hopefully. Has he finally called, and is now asking about me?

"Oh, really?" She mutters with interest, dropping her gaze to her coffee. She sips it nonchalantly. "Wow, sounds busy for you too, then... Like I said, we're coping pretty well so far." I can't catch any hint on whether it's Christian or even just her mom that she's speaking to. But then she says, "Yeah, I love you too. Speak soon, bye," and my heart goes even wilder with the beating. She hangs up with a sigh, dropping her phone on the table loudly.

"Who was that?" I manage while trying to sound normal and like I truly don't care either way. But I can't look her face-on; I find I have to turn my back on her, using the excuse of having to make sure the toast doesn't burn as my deliberate distraction. "Your Mom or your Dad calling to check in, maybe?"

"It was dad actually." It's probably pathetic, how my heart skips a beat at the mere mention of her father, but... considering that I haven;t heard from him all week, I'm basically hanging off whatever little small breadcrumbs I can get here.

"Oh, really, it was your dad?" I think I manage to seem casual about it. "How is he?"

"He said it's weird, being all alone in the house now. He also said that works been keeping him busy as well. Apparently they are doing re-hiring at his company so he's been preoccupied with all of that." Hmm, I guess that explains why I haven't heard from him then. He does have his own life and business to attend to. Of course he'd be busy with that. I still can't help the little tinges of sadness in my heart, the sadness of missing him, of not having heard anything from him, not even a simple text. "He said he had to travel for a few days for the new hiring process so he's feeling a little fatigued from that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He sounded a little down and tired, but mostly OK, I think, from what I heard."

"That's great then," I murmur distractedly, then I realize I haven't been as diligent with the toast-watching as I first thought. Smoke wafts from inside the toaster. It's a new toaster, one we haven't properly set the timer on. "Crap, stupid new toaster," I grumble, pressing the eject button quickly. Our pieces of toast turn out a yucky black color as they pop up, but they are still edible. "Sorry, I think our toast is gonna be a little overcooked."

"That's OK," Kate mutters from behind me carelessly. "Is it a bit sad that I'm so starving that I would willingly eat it, no matter how burnt it is?"

"Nope, I'm with you on that," I mutter, yanking the toast out hastily onto each of our individual plates.

I focus on slathering heaps of butter on the black, crispy bits, although I know I'm not entirely there and present while I do it. All I can seem to focus on is what little I can go on, on what little I have to survive with. Kate's finally heard from Christian, and he's still alive and he is fine. Busy and tired from work- and a little lonely living alone now that Kate has moved out to the campus apartment we share together- but alive. I just wish he would contact me though. Even a simple text, like I said. He has my number, after all.

"I noticed you've been spending more time with Jose Rodriguez," Kate begins once I finish up with our breakfast, carrying the plates over to the table. We settle in, eagerly scarfing down our eggs on toast. "What's with that?"

"We have classes together, that's all," I explain simply with a shrug. "And he _did_ go to high school with us. It helps to hang out with someone familiar." Because Kate and I don't have the same schedule, we haven't seen each other much this week, aside from lunch and at the apartment obviously. I've noticed her spending time with a group of girls. "Who are those girls I've seen you with so much during the week?"

"Just a few girls from the same classes together," she says with a shrug, her mouth full with egg yolk. "They're pretty cool. I'll have to introduce them to you sometimes?"

"Maybe."

We fall into a peaceful silence, just cramming our breakfasts into our mouths. Then Kate's the first to break it again. "What plans do you have for today?"

"Pretty much the same as you. I already have an activity to do for English so that's due on Monday. I'll probably stay in the apartment and do that."

"Damn, that's like me," she grumbles with a roll of her eyes. "Already, I've got some work to do for Sociology." She scrapes the last mouthful of toast into her mouth, then says, "Is it just me or is the work harder compared to high school?"

"Yeah, you definitely aren't wrong there. It's definitely going to be tough."

Seeing as she's the first to finish her breakfast, Kate stands from the table first, gathering up her messy plate, cutlery and mug. She stumbles over to the sink in our divided little kitchen to start washing up. I glance out towards the window while slowly chewing on my toast. The suns already risen and it seems like it's going to be a beautiful, sunny day. The view from the apartment isn't all that spectacular but it's decent enough to appreciate everything outside.

 _At least I have heard second-hand news about Christian, no matter how little that news is. It's something to go on._

..

That evening, after a slow, uneventful day of Kate and I just staying in and working on our individual work for our classes, I head into my room, shutting the door securely after calling it a night with her. I left Kate sitting out in the living room watching some crappy TV, even although I know it's only 10.30 at night and I feel wide-awake and not at all tired yet. I guess I was beginning to feel antisocial so decided being by myself for a little while was the best bet for me.

I get changed into my pajamas, switch on the lamp near my bed, and turn off the main light. My eyes land on the books I'd stacked as neatly as possible near the wall as a sort-of makeshift bookshelf. The books Christian had given me, The Great Gatsby, East of Eden...

I sigh loudly as I pull back the sheets and climb into my bed, leaning propped up against my elbow and my pillow as I reach for my phone. Even the books he gave me, they serve as a ptiful reminder of his absence. So he ended up calling Kate, his daughter, and asked even about me and how I am doing. I just wish he would have bothered to call me himself, or even text no less. I unlock the screen on my phone, feeling an immediate stab of disappointment. Still no missed call or text from him. Even after all we've been through together...

I miss him so much. The fact that he has called Kate only serves to make me miss him even more. It's been an entire week and I haven't heard zilch from him, aside from second-hand news from his daughter. Why hasn't he tried to contact me, especially after all that has amounted between us? I lost my virginity to him. Hell, I gave myself to him willingly, and we'd shared some great moments together, getting to know each other... kissing.

I even had admitted to him that I was falling for him, and that I didn't feel that way for any other guys, that I haven't ever before. He had even admitted to falling for me too, hadn't he? So why the absence? God, I want to see him. I want him to come see me. Ring me even, talk to me. I want to hear his voice.

Like I always seem to do lately, I thumb through the gallery on my phone, finding our photo, the only one I have of us. Him, hair ruffled, hotly unkempt, half-asleep. Me, looking so stupidly overwhelmed with glee as I peer back into the lens of the camera. Surely it had to mean something, hadn't it? All we had done together- it had to mean something, right?

I remember that night, sneaking into the recreation room at the house, how he played on his keyboard for me and the way it felt, him on his knees, holding my thighs apart. Tasting me with his warm tongue, prying me apart with his tongue, his moist saliva slick on me down there, the incredible feeling of it all. That had definitely been a first time experience for me, something I had to grant over trust willingly for him to do such a private intimate thing. Cullulingus was what I found out it was called later.

I hadn't heard of guys doing that before so it had to mean something personal to him, right?

This incredible need for him to be here, to feel him put his hands on me, his mouth, his everything... it overwhelms me to the point where I feel my eyes moisten. It's hopelessly disturbing, feeling this way. So hopeless, so bothered and desperate, Lovelorn, even. I have never felt this way before- ever- and it isn't a nice feeling at all, these deep feelings of anguish and sheer desperate need.

 _Doesn't he feel it, too? Doesn't he miss me as well?_

...

English is the first class scheduled on that Monday morning.

As I rush towards the steps of the Science & Engineering building, clinging to my textbook and my completed activity homework beneath one arm while dodging numerous students rushing on their own ways to their classes, Jose makes himself known by calling out to me loudly.

I slow my rush to a dawdle, waiting for him with a smile. "Hey, Ana," he says breathlessly as he catches up with me, his voice winded from running. "How was your weekend?"

"Pretty quiet. You?"

"Same. Did you end up doing that activity that's due today?"

"I did. You?" We walk towards the rotating glass door and he holds it open to me while still trying to catch his breath. I smile at him gratefully, the embarrassed look on his face immediately telling me all I need to know as far as my question went. "You forgot to do it, didn't you?" I laugh. "Well, don't worry. I'll let you have a look at mine before we go in."

He grimaces while pulling open his satchel. "Thanks, you're a life-saver. I just completely forgot to do it. I blame it on watching too much anime." He pulls out his textbook, which is messily crammed with sheets of paper. Organizing is clearly not his strong point. "I got about a third's way through it though, I'm just not completely sure I-"

The alert sound on my phone distracts me, signalling that I've just been sent a text. I open the screen, half-listening to Jose stressing yet also half-not-listening.

It's like my heart has slammed to a sudden stop as I open the unread text, my mind going into overdrive:

 _Hey, Ana._  
 _I apologize for not being able to contact you for a while but I assume Katherine's explained to you how hectic everything has been. I also thought you would appreciate some distance to adjust into your new lifestyle as college student._  
 _I'll be staying at the Heathman Lodge this Friday through to Sunday morning, about roughly a twenty minutes walk from the campus apartments. Let me know if you are interested in meeting me there. If not, I understand and hopefully we can arrange a more suitable time for you that won't interfere with your time, but I hope that you will._  
 _Words unable to explain how I've been missing you.- Christian._

My hand shakes as I reread the text, an uncontrollable smile coming across my face. He's contacted me. Finally! And he's asked us to meet. Another four days away, sure, but... still. It's better than nothing.

"Yo, earth to Ana?" Jose's crooning, joking voice startles me from my thoughts. I peer up at him quickly, knowing I am probably beaming. "You OK?" He must notice how I'm smiling because he smiles too, out of self-conscious confusion more than anything, I think. "What? Did I just say something funny? Why the goofy smile?"

"Oh, um, no, it... it isn't because of you," I mumble hastily, glancing down at the screen again. "I just, um... heard from someone I've been waiting to hear from all week."

Quickly, I reply, agreeing to meet him that Friday. Would I really give up such a chance? Of course not. Not with how much I've been missing him and longing for him. And, apparently he's been missing me too. _'Words unable to explain how I've been missing you'_ \- is what his text said. It's all there. He's been missing me too. I'm not the only one after all. Just like that, all it takes is a few words on my phone and I am reassured, all my previous insecurities and doubts over the last week blown straight into instant smithereens.

 _I'm not the only one. He's been missing me too._

...

Friday couldn't have come early enough. I still had classes to go to that morning, of course, and I can't bail out on them.

But Christian and I had arranged for me to meet him in the foyer of the Heathman Lodge at 5.30 tonight, way after all my classes have finished for the day. Thanks to a quick check-up on Google maps, I think I'm positive I know how to get there easily. And all week, the waiting... all the anticipation. It's been hell.

The thought of seeing him after almost two weeks since I last did... the chance to be alone, to touch him. To have him physically hold me, kiss me... To actually just even see him in person and hear his voice... I cannot wait for tonight.

I had told Kate, not without difficulty, that I was going to spend the weekend back at my Mom's house, that she had contacted me and had requested to see me after so long away. To my relief, it hadn't taken much for Kate to believe the deception. It felt terrible, lying to her face at the time, but it had to be done. It was completely necessary. I couldn't very well tell her that I'm intending to spend almost three days in a hotel room with her father now, could I? Of course, I couldn't.

Still, the guilt of lying to her isn't easy to shake off. She's my best friend, and lying to her... usually I tell her everything. We usually do not keep any secrets between us. But this isn't only my secret to keep. Christian's involved as well, her father. It isn't just me I'm protecting in this. And besides, I know she wouldn't understand. She couldn't possibly understand. I know she would react badly to what has transpired between her dad and I. So keeping this between her father and I is necessary. Or so I keep convincing myself and rationalizing it.

...

"So you are going to see your Mom for the entire weekend?" Kate asks from her place from where she's settled herself, which so happens to be on my bed.

"Yeah, I'll be going there by bus." I can't quite look in her direction as I say the words. I haven't always been a very strong liar. "I read it'll take about probably four hours to get to Mom's house."

"Four hours is a long trip? Does she know you are already coming?"

"Yeah, she does. I think she's actually happy to see me for once." Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they are furthest from the truth. They taste wrong. Of course, I'm not actually seeing my Mom for the weekend, but Christian, Kate's father. But having told her it was Mom, it seems believable enough, despite Kate knowing that the relationship between Mom and myself is anything but close. "She should be interested in knowing how the first week of college has gone."

"Well, I'm pleased that things seem better between you two then. I know she hasn't really been there for you all that much."

I turn to look at her quickly while stuffing a pair of clean clothes into my duffel bag. I'm really just packing a few spare clothes for the two nights, just for the sake of having something decent and clean to wear. I don't particularly enjoy the idea of wearing the same underwear two days in a row.

"Yeah, things are definitely looking better between us."

She gives me a glum smile. "I'll miss you though."

"Aw, I'll miss you too, Kate. But it won't be for long."

"OK, but just text or call me when you arrive there? I want to know that you are safe."

"OK, I will, I promise." Finished packing everything I think I'll need, I zip the bag up, then haul it over my shoulder by the strap. "I'll call you first thing." Rolling off my bed, Kate follows me to the door of our apartment.

I turn to her and we hug tightly. It's as a pull back from her with a forced smile while she holds the door open for me, that my conscience stirs to life. _Am I a bad friend? Definitely so_.

Best friends definitely aren't supposed to lie to each other or make up some excuse to hide what they are really intending to do on the weekend. I am really committing the ultimate act of betrayal. For a second there as I stare into her eyes pitifully as she watches me leave, it runs through my head like a fantasy, a little scenario.

I tell Kate where I am really going, which is a fifteen minute walk away to see her father at his room at the Heathman Lodge. I tell her I lost my virginity to him, that I offered it to him. That whenever she had gone away to spend time with her mother, I had gone to her house alone and experienced amazing, incredible sex with her father. That I'm in love with him. And that I'm fairly certain he's fallen for me too.

I see it so vividly then as she waves at me with a sad smile as I start walking down the corridor to the stairs, my bag weighing my shoulder down. Kate's eyes flashing with anger, her immediate outburst of harsh words. I am a terrible person, a horrible friend. A backstabber, a liar. Maybe she would even slap me? I know she would definitely tell me that our friendship is over, that she wants nothing more to do with me because of what I have started with her father.

And could I really blame her, if so? Kate will probably hate me forever when the truth comes to light. Who knows? She may very even well be tempted enough to kill me.

Or maybe she wouldn't attempt to kill me? Maybe she could learn to be happy, if she sees the way we made each other feel?

I know he makes me happy whenever I am around him, and I think... I think I make him happy, too. Certainly happy enough to sort of move on from his ex.

Maybe she would forgive me, in time? If she really saw how we make each other feel?

I don't even know why I am entertaining the thought of telling her. My anxiety at the mere thought- it's over the roof, and I have to take a few calming breaths as I reach outside the apartment building. It's depressing and scary, the unknown thought of how she may take it all. I guess I am just not used to keeping secrets from my friend. Especially not something so major as this.

My anxiety shifts into something resembling excitement as I quicken my pace, walking briskly towards where I know he is staying for the weekend at the hotel. The anticipation of finally seeing him again, of being able to have his hands on me, his mouth... of just even simply seeing him smile, hear his voice, having him in close proximity... It spurs me into walking with longer, brisker strides. It feels like I have been waiting years to see him again. It has truly been too long.

As I reach the outside of the modern tan building with the large sign ' _Heathman Lodge'_ scrabbled extravagantly out front, I stop for a second while trying to regain some equilibrium. I know it's going to be hard to not throw myself at him, the instance I do see him. But I'll have to try my best, for the sake of maintaining some dignity.

Breathing in deeply through my nose, I finally bite the bullet, striding towards the polished glass door. I push my way inside, searching around for any sight of him immediately.

Already, the hotel looks so sophisticated and artfully decorated even in just the foyer area. There is a large mahogany wood desk with men and women in business suits waiting around to check people into reception. There is even a waiting area with a large couch where people can sit with their luggage. Sparse green inside plants in every corner. Immaculately clean and shiny marble floor. It all screams posh.

Nervously, I gnaw on my bottom lip while glancing around again. That's when I see him. My heart leaps and dances in a strange, jittery way as his gaze meets mine from where he stands, eagerly waiting near the reception desk. My breath at the sight of him and all the oxygen in my lungs at the broad smile that comes across his face at the sight of me- gone, all at once. I may as well be dead.

 _God. Damn._ I forgot how amazing his smile is. Even how infectious it could be, no less. I know I'm immediately looking much the same, as a large smile creeps up onto my lips in return as he starts making his way over to me.

He's wearing a light blue dress shirt, with dark blue tuxedo jacket and matching trousers. He obviously has definitely been here for work purpoises then, if his clothes are anything to go by. He's dressed like a businessman. I can hardly believe we're finally together again, after so long. I know it's only been like two weeks since we last saw each other but still, it feels like a lifetime. When he finally comes to stand in front of me, I feel like I can barely muster my voice to work coherently. I've just been waiting for this exact moment for so long. And I think he feels exactly the same.

My eyes run down the entire length of him appreciatively as he does the same, taking in my face, my clothes and what I'm wearing. He clearly hasn't shaved in a while, because he's got some stubble happening. And I think there's something different about him from what I remembered last time too. The hair, maybe?

"Hi," he finally says, his voice sounding just as breathless as I feel. "Glad you could come and that you found the place all right."

"Hi," I squeak out, unable to hide the excitement and happiness coating my tone at seeing him again. "Well, thank you for inviting me. How have you been?"

"I'm better now."

Forcing my eyes away, I glance across the building again. "This place looks very fancy."

"One of the many perks of having a high-paying job, I suppose," he murmurs while running his hand through his hair. "Should we head up to the room?"

"Um, sure. If you want to?"

"Of course." Surprising me, he slips my bag carefully off my shoulder for me and carries it himself, leading the way. He presses a button near an elevator and the doors open. "I'm staying in the master suite," he explains as we both step in. I lean against the wall nervously as he presses the button that goes up to the correct floor.

"Lucky you, then. This place looks incredible."

"Well, just wait until you see the room. There's room service- whatever fine food and beverage of your choice, whatever your heart desires." I feel like he's trying to impress me, yet he succeeded in doing that the instance I saw him waiting for me in the foyer. "And, to top it all off, we have our own personal spa bath." I smile in amusement, unable to help it.

"Really? There's even a spa bath?"

"There is. Impressed?"

"A little," I murmur honestly. "I don't think I've ever really been in a spa bath before. Is that strange?"

"Well, fortunately for you, you are in for a treat," he says with a short chuckle. And just like that... spine-tingles. I've missed those spine-tingling sensations he gives me, even merely by laughing or smiling.. or eating.

I realize my grin is still pathetically frozen in place as we fall silent, waiting for the elevator to bring us up to his floor. When I turn my head and look at him, side-on, I realize he's staring at me, something bright in his grey eyes. And that's what we simply do for a second or two; Stare at each other in silence, eyeing each other, familiarizing ourselves with each other. I still think there's something different about him.

"You seem... different?" I observe curiously.

Christian lifts up his free hand that isn't holding the strap of my bag. He runs his fingertips lightly over his chin while grimacing a little, in embarrassment I think. "I haven't gotten the time to shave in a while."

"Hmm, I figured as much, but I don't think that's just it, although the unshaven look suits you well."

"I also got my hair cut," he admits, and it's like a light bulb moment. It _is_ his hair.

"That's what it is," I breathe, my fingers itching to reach up between us, to stroke my fingers through his hair, to feel it again. "I thought there was something a bit different about your hair. It looks good."

" _You_ look good," he murmurs and I feel myself flush at his straight forward comment.

"Do I, now, Mr Grey?" I cannot help teasing.

"Yes, you do. _Incredibly_ good." He makes a point of letting his grey eyes roam down my clothes, then up again, like he is purposefully checking me out. His audacity to playfully flirt with me.. it takes all I have not to crack up laughing. "You also seem like you've lost some weight, though, since the last time I saw you?"

"Maybe I have, but it would be unintentional, what with settling into my new crazy college life and everything." I shrug. "It's been a stressful week."

The look he gives me is one filled with both empathy and understanding. "Yes, I'm sure it has been," he says. "It's been a particularly busy week for me as well." Finally, the elevator stops on his suite floor, the mechanical doors sliding open. "Come on."

As we step out, he reaches over between us, taking one of my hands and holding it while we walk. I'm not sure why him doing that surprises me so much- but it's an extremely pleasant, good surprise. It only just makes those feelings of missing him, of happiness, well over to almost breaking point; the simple gesture alone. I blink up at him, smiling shyly while giving his fingers a light squeeze with my own, and a smile plays along his lips in return.

"Here we are," he says as we reach a door along the hallway that says 612. We stop holding hands so that he can remove the key out of his trouser pocket. "Have you had dinner?" he asks while opening the door. He stands back to let me head in first.

"Um, no, I haven't."

"Good, I haven't either. If you want, we can order from the menu and have it delivered to the room."

"Sounds great." I try to keep my voice light as I glance round the room.

Of course, I haven't stayed in a hotel room before, nor have I experienced the perks of room service. But this room, it's beyond incredible. The furnishings here are modern, very fancy. All muted pastels and soft purples. I wander over to the open, drawn-back curtains. His suite must be up on a top floor because the view of Seattle, it's incredible.

"Have you been staying in here at the Heathman Lodge for long?" I ask curiously, observing the tall skyscrapers lit up across from us.

"Actually, I only checked in just early this morning. We are restarting the hiring process, so we had to call in HR. This was the most suitable location for it."

"Oh, yeah. I think Kate told me all about that when you called that day. She filled me in on everything that you said you were going through."

I turn to look over at him from my place standing by the window, suddenly horrified at the thought of maybe making him feel uncomfortable at the casual name-drop of his daughter. Only, to my relief, he doesn't look uncomfortable at all. He stands there in the middle of the room, watching me, my bag on the floor at his shoes.

"Um, I suppose I should tell you that I told Kate that I was spending the weekend visiting my mother back home," I explain to him, just in case he needs reassurance. "Everything was normal when I left. I mean, I don't think she suspects anything at all."

He nods once at my words, lifting a hand to run his fingers slowly through his hair. It's impossible to know whether he does feel reassured or not, though.

I feel a sudden desperate urge to change topic, to keep things light and safer between us. "You know, I was a little upset that you waited so long to contact me." I allow a decent amount of teasing into my tone so he knows I'm truly over it now, that I'm past it all. "I was starting to think that maybe you regretted things between us or that... maybe you didn't want to see me anymore because you felt too guilty?"

"Not at all, Anastasia. That wasn't it at all." His eyes soften as he walks slowly closer to where I'm standing, shoving one hand into his trouser pocket deeply as he shakes his head. "I just assumed you'd be preoccupied with adjusting to everything new that's happening and I wanted to give you space, that's all."

He wanted to give me space to adjust to college life? I suppose I can't blame him then. It did make me miss him wildly though. Even just standing close, now... with him barely a step away from me. I could easily fling myself at him, throw my arms around his neck. It's taking everything within me not to, the need to be close to him again, to feel him holding me coursing through my blood stream, firing it up, heating every nerve and muscle within its path. But I shouldn't. Not yet. Seeing as I'll be here until Sunday, I figure there is plenty of time for that later. I'll just have to be patient.

"Speaking from experience, I know how hard it can be, how overwhelming. I thought you'd appreciate some distance for a while until you were properly settled."

"Well, I think I'm beginning to properly settle in now," I mutter reassuringly, blinking up at him. "I'm adjusting."

"Then that's great to hear."

i can barely take it anymore, my willpower has vanished. I throw myself into him, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. He holds me close for what feels like hours, his own arms snaking around my waist. God I've missed him. Everything about him; the feel of him, his smell. I feel like I'm home, where I belong weirdly enough.

"Hi," I whisper again into his shirt.

"Hi yourself," he mutters back.

Just like before when he decided to take my hand, it's a pleasant surprise all over again when Christian reaches up, clasping onto it. He une eaves my arms from his neck, trails his thumb over my fingers and it's like I'm all tingly from the spine all over again. Before I know it, he starts treading backwards while tugging on my hand and I follow him, until he crashes onto the large sofa behind us, bringing me with him.

Thinking to hell with it, instead of just plainly sitting beside him, I go one further and lift up with my knees on either side of him so that I am straddling him. I reach up with my left hand, grasping down onto his shoulder while he resumes holding my other, running his thumb back and forth over my knuckles and fingers repetitively.

The small curl of his lips at the edges of his mouth and the short, breathless chuckle he gives off as he arches his eyebrows at me shows me that I am the one pleasantly surprising him for once right now. It has just been too long. Keeping distance, not touching him, I cannot stand prolonging it after how long it's been since we saw each other last.

"Sorry," I whisper with a shy laugh, although I hardly sound- nor even feel- truly sorry at all.

Christian must hear the lack of sincerity in my tone, because he sends another spine-tingling chuckle my way as he mutters offhandedly beneath his breath, "No, you're not. I don't really believe you are sorry at all, Anastasia."

"OK, well, maybe you're right," I laugh, nudging him in the shoulder once playfully with my hand. "Terrible as it may be to you, I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit..." Unable to resist now that I'm near, now that I've got him basically stuck under me, I loosen my hold around his shoulder, moving my hand instead, gliding it slowly around the front of the smooth silky fabric of his tuxedo jacket, his collar. Somehow I forgot how good being in his company could feel.

Then again, I think _everything with him_ feels good. Him touching me, him being near. His laugh, how he smiles at me. His voice. _Everything._

"So tell me," he murmurs softly as I feel him lift his arm, his hand guiding up behind my back, holding me closer, keeping me upright against him. "Tell me how college has been for you... aside from the obvious in that it's overwhelming?" His fingers trace up and down the curve of my spine absently as he peers deeply into my eyes, watching me, staring at me with keen interest; Another thing I seemed to have forgotten about and had taken for granted; How interested he genuinely seems.

I suck in a deep breath, then let it all out heavily. Where to even start? "Well, even although I felt I had prepared myself for it all, it hasn't really... turned out to be quite what I was expecting." I bite down on my bottom lip, struggling for the right words as I melt against him, at the way his fingers artfully carress and massage my spine. "Even the classes... they seem so much more difficult compared to the way it was in high school."

"What were some of the classes you had again?" he asks. "I know Katherine said you both have Art together?"

"Yeah, just the one class unfortunately, which... makes it difficult. Kate's so easy-going and approachable; she's easily made so many news friends." Without thinking, I go off on a rant, not even really aware of what I'm saying. "Whereas the only friend I've made is this guy that I knew in high school. I think it was easier befriending him because there was familiarity with him there. But Kate-"

The noise of him clearing his throat meaningfully halts me, drawing my attention. I peer down at him while clenching my mouth shut, confused by the way he's looking at me. He raises his eyebrows at me, his eyes bright and shining with what seems amusement.

"What?" I blab out, confused.

He shakes his head at me. I can tell he's trying not to grin. "I asked how college was for you, not for Katherine," he points out with unrestrained humor. "If I wanted to know all the specifics and details, I'd ask Katherine herself. But what I want to know about is how _you_ are adjusting with everything and how it's been for you."

Oh. My breath catches in my throat out of shock.

"Just _you_ , Ana, honey." Honey. The combination of the tender endearment as well as Christian pointing out that he only wants to hear exclusively about me, both catches me off-guard yet makes me feel strangely amazed and touched at the same time. I cannot really remember anyone having plain, genuine interest in my own well-being all that much. Certainly not from my mother, who hasn't called me even once to check up on me and see how I am coping.

"Well..." I inhale deeply, still a little surprised. "As I said, the classes seem a lot more advanced than high school. But I think I'm doing OK so far. I do just wish I could easily blend in and make new friends easier."

"And _why can't_ you?" he asks out right.

"Why?" Wouldn't that be obvious? "Because I guess I can be... shy. Insecure. Making friends doesn't come as easily to me as it does 'some' people." And by 'some' people, I'm hinting to his daughter obviously and no doubt Christian knows that himself. But he hadn't wanted to hear about her so I'm trying hard not to talk about her so much. I stroke my fingers and run them up and down his shirt, then begin fiddling with the little lapels around his collar. Speaking about college life seems suddenly so macabre, so boring. I find I want to hear more about what he is doing instead, so I change subject quickly, "So, aside from being busy with work, what else have you been doing since I last saw you?"

He presses his lips together into a tight line, his forehead and corners of his eyes creasing as he thinks my question through thoughtfully. "Nothing all that different, frankly."

"Have you been golfing with Taylor still?"

"Yes, still that."

"And what about The Grace? Have you taken your boat out sailing since?"

"Sadly, no. I haven't since the last time I took her out with you."

"Then what about Frank?" I ask with a light, teasing edge. "Have you been listening to 'good, old' Frank?" I ask, imitating him. Surely he has been listening to Frank Sinatra's music, like usual. I certainly have a few times since coming to college. I had downloaded some songs onto my IPod, songs that I listen to practically daily. Mainly only because I know Christian introduced me to him, and it's sort of been a special thing that causes me to remember him.

"You aren't going to believe me, but... I actually haven't been listening to good old Frank lately."

"No!" I make a pretend gasp of shock-horror. "Really? You haven't at all? But he's your favorite!"

"I know, but... it doesn't really feel the same anymore, listening to him."

"How can it not feel the same anymore?" I ask, confused. "You love him?"

"I know, but lately whenever I listen to his music, I start thinking of you. And that's..." He grimaces. " _Hard_."

Blood seems to gush to my face at his words. Listening to Frank Sinatra's music tends to make him think of me now? And what's more, thinking about me is... hard for him? Why? "Is it hard thinking about me because you don't want to... or?" I begin uncertainly.

"No, it isn't the thinking about you part that is difficult." He drags his hand swiftly up my back, and then I feel his fingers gently tugging and playing with the strands at the ends of my hair. "It's just the... missing you part that it leads to which becomes incredibly... painful."

I feel my breathing come to an abrupt stand-still at his words. _So it's painful? He finds missing me painful? He misses me just as much as I miss him when we're apart then?_

"I don't want anything to be painful for you," I whisper truthfully, yet I cannot deny the part within me that is greedily happy that he misses me as well. Uncontrollably and like my hand has a mind of its own, it fiddles with one corner of his collar, then it springs higher, my hand opening and fingers pressing flat into the hot, smooth skin on the side of his throat. I think I can feel his pulse twitching beneath my fingers. "Sorry," I murmur, bringing my hand up slowly higher, tracing my fingers up along his Adam's apple, then above to his chin. His skin there feels prickly, rougher from the stubble. "Sorry," I mutter again without thought. "I can't seem to stop touching you. I just want to touch you all over. It's been too long."

Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip nervously, I lift my eyes, meeting his. He blinks back at me slowly, something deep and emotive building behind them. "Don't be sorry, Anastasia," he murmurs, and his voice sounds hoarse and deeper. "Touch me wherever you like. You won't receive any complaints from me."

"It's just that I..." I hesitate, not sure whether it's silly to say or not. Will he find it pathetic of me?

"It's just that you- what, Ana?" he coaxes, his lips parting. He licks his lips, moistening them, his breathing a little louder than I'm fairly certain it was a couple of minutes ago. I think it's because I'm touching him. Is he just as affected as I am? "Finish your sentence. You just what?"

Since he's asked so nicely and trusting he won't deem me stupid, I inhale in deeply, then let it all flow out again shakily. "It's just that I've really missed you and... this," I whisper, having to drop my gaze from his eyes. I focus on the smattering of hair on his chest instead, peeking out through the collar of his shirt. "I know it's only been really a week since I've seen you, but... I've missed you. I've missed not touching each other, like... we are now." I skim my fingertips up higher until I'm caressing the side of his face, his smooth, warm cheekbone. "The not seeing each other... the not even..." I pause, inching closer a little in his lap while inhaling in deeply. I think I can smell him. It's a familiar, comforting smell that is completely him, completely masculine. "Breathing in each other. I've missed everything so much."

That feeling I've felt lately, when alone in my bed at the apartment near campus, it overcomes me, that sharp sad throng of misery, of longing and deep yearning to be near him. I feel all of my skin prickle and lift with little goose-pimples beneath the unpleasant wave of it all, something stinging and heavy building in my throat.

"And then knowing that I'm missing everything and not... being able to discuss it with everyone, having to hold it in and keep it all to myself," I breathe out shakily. "I think feeling all of that this week has been even harder compared to being stressed with settling into the new apartment and college and all of that. The missing you, I think that's been the hardest thing of all."

Reluctantly, I bring up my eyes, glancing at him, trying to analyse what he's thinking or feeling about my confession. It's really impossible to tell whether he thinks I'm being a foolish idiot or not, but his hand, I feel it come up completely into my hair, until he's fisting a handful of the strands behind my head gently.

"I know it's probably silly of me," I mumble, embarrassed. "But that is honestly how I've felt ever since college began. It was missing you that's the worse, overly dramatic as it probably seems to you..."

"It's not overly dramatic to me," he murmurs strongly, finally speaking after a moment. "And that's the very exact reason why I couldn't stand listening to good old Frank anymore, Anastasia. When I do, I tend to miss you painfully- exactly in all the ways you just described to me." My heart, that ache, it seems to vanish over his reciprocation of my own feelings in regards to missing him like crazy. "So don't apologize or think what you are telling me is in any way silly, Anastasia. I've felt the same way, too."

My first instinct is to laugh it off nervously, only when I peer at his face again, I see how utterly sincere he looks, how earnest. His eyes gleam back at me, nothing but sincerity in them. "Really? So you've missed me that badly too?" For some reason I find it so difficult to believe.

"I have." My stomach grumbles rudely out of nowhere, and then we're both laughing- my stomachs noise ending up being the perfect needed cue for lightening the subject between us. He sits up slightly on the couch and because I'm basically straddling him and he's still holding me, naturally I do too. "Now, sorry to divert from what we were just talking about, but I believe that is a hint for me to call for room service so that I can get you fed."

"Yeah, I think that would be safe," I murmur teasingly. "My stomach clearly needs its food right now."

He leans forward off the couch and, to my delight, he doesn't make me get off him. Not even when he has to stand upright to grab the menu. I hear his knees crack as he shifts us back down onto the couch while I'm still draped around him, an arm still tightly around his neck. His hand resumes its pattern of before, in stroking up and down my back through my shirt gently while he uses his other free hand to open the menu, which he reads the choices out to me.

We end up settling on oysters as entree. Salmon and vegetables for dinner. And then to complete it all, for dessert is strawberry cheesecake.

Even as he makes the call to order the room service, he still lets me remain where I am, perched in his lap while he speaks on the phone, something that leaves me deliriously happy; It's as if Christian cannot separate himself from me himself, that he wants to make up on lost time of so long away not getting the chance to so much as hold or touch each other.

"Of course, all on the tab to Room 612 is perfectly fine," he finishes, his eyes on nothing else but me as I continue my ministrations from before, unable to resist rubbing him down with my hands. "Excellent... Thank you." At that, he hangs up the phone and chucks it carelessly on the couch near us somewhere. "They say it could take roughly up to forty minutes until it gets up here," he breathes, filling me in.

"OK," I murmur back, reaching up with both hands this time. I comb my fingers through his hair, through the thick strands like he often does. His hair definitely feels a lot shorter than it was before, obviously due to the haircut. "Have to say that I'm looking forward to being cooked for for once. Sorry to say it, but your daughter really can't cook to save her life. She can't cook for shi-" I stop myself abruptly from finishing that sentence, slamming my eyes closed in self-chastisement. God, why do I keep bringing her up for? Stupid! "Sorry, I know you don't want me bringing her up all the time. It's just become a force of habit-"

"- _Ana_." His firm voice demands my attention and I reopen my eyes reluctantly. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Even although he's brushing it off casually, it still doesn't seem good enough. "No, really. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Another thought instantly comes to me as I massage his scalp, sort of scratching it gently with my fingers. "Do you ever wish-" But then I stop again, uncertain.

"Do I ever wish- _what_ , Ana?"

"Well, do you, um, ever... wish that I was anyone but your daughter's best friend? Do you ever find yourself wishing things were different and that I was, I guess... someone you met randomly on the street one night? Someone older, your age?"

Christian's silent for a moment, squinting at me, deep in thought. Then he shrugs. "I've entertained the thought briefly, of course. Let's face it; it would certainly make things a hell of a lot simpler."

Hmm, I guess that's true. "It would be simpler, wouldn't it?"

"But then I realize, it is what it is. There's really no use wishing for anything different. And honestly, at the start..." He's the one to hesitate this time.

"At the start?" I prompt gently.

"At the start, I beat myself up over it constantly, over... my feelings towards you. Only I decided I can't shut them off. There's no point fighting it anymore." And he's right, and I'm pleased he isn't fighting this anymore.

But now that we've brought it up in conversation, my mind starts drifting as I daydream of an alternate reality. A simpler one, where Christian and I cross paths- me being much graceful, much older. And anything but Kate's best friend, someone his daughter's age.

Kate wouldn't hate me so much then, in the end. She probably wouldn't be as angry or betrayed as she is bound to inevitably feel when- or if - she ever does come to find out what's going on between her father and I. _If only..._

 _FIRSTLY, I AM SO VERY SORRY FOR TAKING SUCH A LONG TIME TO WRITE ANOTHER CHAPTER. TIME HAS GONE SO QUICKLY. IT'S REALLY EMBARRASSING BUT I HAD AN ACCIDENT AT WORK AND SEVERED MY FINGER, I WAS RUSHED INTO HOSPITAL AND THEY HAD TO STITCH IT UP. I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO PROPERLY MOVE MY FINGER FOR OVER A FEW MONTHS SO THAT IS THE MAIN REASON FOR THE HIATUS AWAY FROM THE STORY._

 _I AM REALLY SORRY ABOUT THAT BUT NOW THAT MY FINGER IS BETTER AND I CAN TYPE, THE CHAPTERS WILL COME OFTEN AGAIN. I HOPE YOU ARE STILL INTERESTED IN THE STORY? I TRULY AM SORRY AND WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS, HOPING ITS OKAY?_

 _I ALSO TRIED TO MAKE THE LENGTH LONGER AS AN APOLOGY SO HOPE YOU LOVELY READERS AREN'T TOO ANGRY WITH ME._


	24. Chapter 24

_**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**_

 _ **IN TOO DEEP**_

"This is definitely the life," I mutter with a peaceful sigh as I use my spoon to dig into the third course of our meal, the strawberry cheesecake. I had probably seven oysters altogether, and a large plate of vegetables and crispy-skinned salmon and I feel full as a boot. Despite that, apparently I'm not full enough not to indulge in the dessert. I scoop a large chunk of it into my mouth, the creamy cheesecake melting onto my tongue. It isn't overly sweet, just perfect, with a tangy tart hint of strawberry flavor. The cheesecake is every bit as delicious as the oysters and the salmon had been earlier.

"I know what you mean," Christian murmurs appreciatively from his space on the floor right next to me. We're both leaning against the couch with our backs, our legs stretched out comfortably on the carpet as we eat, first course and second courses trays and empty dirty plates messily sprawled out near us. "This is the life, isn't it?"

I make my mistake in peering over at him while he eats. He pops his spoon of sliced cheesecake into his mouth, sucking it off noiselessly. Then he meets my gaze as he swallows it down, savoring the taste. My cheeks are hit with heat as he licks his lips. Like usual, the man even just simply innocently eating something... _damn. Is there some kind of word or fetish for this sort of thing? Because I definitely do believe I have issues considering how much I seem to get-off on watching him eat..._

Deliberately, I drop my eyes back down to my plate while trying to ignore that pesky heat that has engulfed my entire face. The fullness of my stomach has become unbearably painful, it occurs to me. Sadly I don't think I will be able to polish all of the cheesecake off, no matter how delicious it tastes. Maybe it won't go bad if I leave it in the room for later?

"I don't think I can eat anymore of this or fit anymore of it in," I say honestly, dropping my spoon on my plate. "It's delicious but I might save the rest for later."

"Ana, that's fine. I won't force you to eat it. Do whatever you want."

I nod while placing my plate down near the others while licking the crumbs off my lips, shifting slightly and propping my head up with an elbow on the couch and the side of my face resting on my hand to make myself more comfortable while I watch him quietly. Apparently he isn't having any trouble with feeling too full.

He still eats happily, scraping cheesecake base crumbs off his plate greedily. I glance down at his feet and... feel surprised. Somehow I had missed the fact that he had removed his shoes and socks like I had. His feet are so much larger than mine, so much longer.

Almost immediately, I feel a strange shift come over me. A sort of playful, less serious mood. Now that we are here, all by ourselves, in his hotel room at the Heathman Lodge after essentially two incredibly long weeks away... I want to be playful, a little naughty and teasing. Otherwise what is the point of finally being here? Considering all the stress and turmoil I have felt the past two weeks, all the anxiety and mental stress from starting college, all the anguish over missing him... I think it's what I need the most. It feels way long overdue.

I get an idea. Trying to be subtle about it, I drag my left foot closer to his right one, my heel scraping gently against the carpet while analyzing his face closely as he chews. He seems too preoccupied with demolishing his cheesecake so... when I do it, I don't think he knows what to think. I manage to tap my little toe over his, then I move away quickly, gauging his reaction.

I have to cover my hand over my mouth to stop myself from grinning visibly as he lifts his gaze to look over at me, his eyes narrowed. I wait for him to say something, to ask what I am doing even, only... to my disappointment, he just glances back down at his half-eaten plate of cheesecake.

 _Damn, apparently I was being a little too subtle. Maybe he assumed it was accidental?_

It's probably childish of me, I know, but I can't seem to care. Eyes on nothing else but the side of his face and the way his jaw moves as he swallows and eats, I do it again, bringing my foot over. I cover and stroke my toes over his in a very thorough, very obvious way. Then I move my foot a distance away again, watching his reaction, amusement darting through me wildly. He doesn't look at me this time, but I notice he stills every time I do it; His jaw pausing from chewing, his body going completely still. I do it again this time, only I lift up with my leg completely off the ground, dropping it over his trouser-clad shin heavily.

Then before I become too shy, I lift my leg up a little, bending my knee back, until I lay my entire foot on his trouser leg. The cloth feels warm and silky on my toes, probably from his body heat. He simply shifts slightly on the couch and crosses one ankle over the other so that he can see me better, his body angled and mirroring mine and, luckily for me, the position makes things that much easier. Things become a bit more... accessible.

Although my entire face feels like it's on fire and my heart rate feels spiked, I finally do it before I lose my courage, going even further than what I first intended to do with him. Pulling my knee back, I push and toe my foot up his leg until it meets that place directly in the center of his crotch.

I wiggle my toes a little there, feeling the cold metal of his zipper and fly against them. It's then it occurs to me belatedly. I hear him then. How louder his breathing has become. How unsteady and harder.

"Anastasia," he finally speaks as his spoon clatters loudly onto his plate that he holds with both hands. I feel like I can barely breath as I force myself to glance up at his face, trying to keep my expression blank so it gives nothing away. I arch my brows at him in question as I become aware of the heat of him that radiates through the fabric of his trousers straight to the pads of my toes. He's staring at me, something shining brightly in his eyes. His lips are parted, his chest heaving through the front of his shirt and collar as he inhales in and exhales out deeply. "Just what are you doing to me?"

I can barely contain the laugh that escapes me as I mutter beneath my breath, "Playing footsies."

"Playing foot-" He repeats, then stops himself at my words, his voice filled with sarcasm. I wiggle and move my toes again, and it's then he shuts his eyes tightly closed, his chin and head falling a little. _I think I'm definitely succeeding in my mission right now_. When he slowly reopens his eyes with a loud whoosh of air shakily drawn through his mouth, I know I have. "Funny." He eyes my foot from where it is, in his crotch, nudging against his privates playfully through the fabric, "I always assumed you played footsies by touching the other persons feet, not their crotch?"

"Well, maybe footsies was actually a miserable excuse and, really, I just found myself wanting to have a reason to touch your crotch?"

"So you admit to it." There's an edge there in his tone as he turns to put his plate down on the ground near his side. "You're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe," I murmur, while trying to sound anything but nervous. "Maybe I've grown bored with eating and I wish to do other things now?"

"Other things? Like what?" I think he already knows exactly what I have in mind, but he's torturing me by pretending he doesn't know. Either that or he knows I'm embarrassed.

"I think you already know exactly what I want, Mr Grey. No need to act coy."

"I think you are the one who is acting coy here, Anastasia, not me." _Hmm, I guess he does have a point. Sort of._ "So if you want it, you are going to have to come out and say it."

I can barely quit squirming beneath his gaze. Only something tells me that is exactly his purpose. "I think you already know what I want to do, without me even having to say it out loud to you."

Something glints in his eyes as he stares me down, the corners of his mouth lined with the hint of a suppressed smile. "Still. I want to hear you say it."

Oh, God. "Well, it begins with an S," I state shyly, realizing for the first time that I am literally panting. I hear my own breaths, and they are loud and unsteady. Matching his.

"Sleep?" He guesses, being deliberately evasive on what he knows I truly want, I think. It's frustrating. Obviously his intention.

"Um, no," I laugh, finding a new tactic. I deliberately let my gaze linger around the room. "I mean, we're here, in a hotel room. Just me and you. A hotel room that has a...a bed." Finally, I meet his gaze again, feeling my blood boiling on my skin. "I think you know sleeping is the very last thing that I want to use that bed for right now." I am not used to be direct or stating that I want sex, obviously. He's the only person I've slept with, so... of course I wouldn't really be all that clued-in on how to initiate it. But I find it's what I want right now. It's what I really, really want.

 _And I think it's what he wants right now as well. Unless I'm mistaken._

But then I burrow my toes into his crotch again, pressing down gently. He hisses loudly and breathes in deeply through his nose at the teasing contact. And it's then I feel him; That most intimate, warm part of him. It's straining against the seam of his trousers, rigid and poking into the middle of my foot. I hear my own breath alter and lengthen in response. I cannot lie that it sort of amazes and thrills me, how quick and capable I seem to be at arousing him. It's surprisingly more easier and funner than I thought.

"Does that make it a little clearer for you?" I manage as he turns his head to look at me again. "Can you tell what I mean now?"

I can tell he does. His face changes, slackens into a look I think I've come to know now since we first started doing this together as his 'turned-on', aroused look. It's probably the hottest look in the world, I think. Maybe even one of my favorites.

He doesn't answer verbally; He simply nods once while using his tongue to lick and moisten his lower lip. Then he surprises me by grabbing my foot, wrapping his fingers around my ankle. He gently pushes it away, setting my ankle back down on the ground. Then he rises to his feet and stands. He doesn't say anything else, but then he doesen't really need to as he reaches down, taking my hand, helping me up onto my feet. I think our intentions for what we want to do next have become extremely clear, on the pair of us.

He leads the way towards the separate bedroom in the master suite. He releases my hand to wander over to the bedside drawer near the bed, and he flicks on a lamp so that the room is bathed in a warm, mild yellow light. Even as he moves to hastily draw the pastel purple curtains closed in the bedroom I can hear his breathing is still uncontrolled and unsteady. Maybe just like mine pretty much is as I move towards the bed. I reach down at the end of it to run my hand over the silky cotton sheets. The bed is so much larger than the one I have at the campus apartment. I think it's even bigger than the one Christian has at his home himself.

I turn, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, my eyes finding Christian from where he stands, a length away from the bed after adjusting and properly shutting the curtains.

It feels like it's been so long since I have experienced this with him. His absence away for those whole two weeks during me being at and starting college, it has only seemed to intensify the need I have, all this need, this desire. There's a deep, hot burning cavity in my chest like fire- something that can only be extinguished once and for all that he's with me like this, properly touching me, properly kissing me. Being inside of me in the most intimate ways that two people can even properly be joined.

But first... that time in the recreation room comes back to me in flashes.

"You know that time we sneaked into your recreation room..." I begin nervously, flushing at the mere thought, clenching my hands anxiously into my lap.

"I think so." His voice is breathless, deeper, as he steps slowly towards where I am sitting on the bed. "What about it, Anastasia?"

"Well, I..." I hesitate, biting down on my lip. Is it wrong to ask? Rude even?

"What?"

"Well, I've thought about it. What you did to me and how, um, incredible it felt. I've been thinking of that a lot lately before I went to sleep at the apartment, and just how... amazing it was. And I... I think I want..."

"You want?" He drops to his knees in front of me, his breathes still quick and shallow.

"Well, um, I wouldn't mind..." But then I don't have to say it. He must sense the sheer embarrassment at me declaring what I want, what I wish for, because Christian smiles and takes me by the shoulders, pushing me backward gently until I'm completely resting on the long mattress. Oh.

He reaches for the waistband of my jeans and pops open the button without much encouragement, and I lift my head, wanting to watch him, wanting to watch everything he is going to be doing to me.

"I think I can work out a thing or two of just what it is that you want, Anastasia," he murmurs, his voice sounding deeper, strained, as he hooks his fingers into the front of my jeans.

Instinctively I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and inch up with my pelvis, helping him out on removing my pair of jeans easily. He wrenches them down past my ankles, getting my feet free, discarding them carelessly at his feet.

Then he licks his lips and moves over me again, grabbing onto the elastic of my panties with his fingers, peeling them down past my knees. I clench my eyes shut at the uncomfortable cold gushes of air in the room that hit me in that personal, private place as I feel him untangle my panties from my feet.

The mattress depresses a little and the springs give off a delicate croak as I reopen my eyes to find him resting a knee between my legs. He grasps onto my inner thighs, parting them as wide as they can go, then he grasps me by the ankles with his hands, lifting, guiding me to bend them so that my legs are comfortably parted on the mattress with my feet supporting them open. I'm fairly aware that I am quivering, quivering from my head to my toes with a curious mixture of both anticipation and nerves.

Using my arms, I lift them up above my head, grasping onto the sheets behind me for something to cling onto, fisting the cotton between my fingers as Christian sinks down onto the mattress, one elbow supporting him upright at my lower body, resting inches from my navel, while the other hand, he uses freely... lifting up the bottom of my shirt, tilting his head down, the tip of nose brushing against my skin. He begins kissing me, trailing his mouth around my navel, planting light but hot open-mouthed kissing over my belly button.

The feeling of his chin as he uses it to nuzzle against my belly, to create a sensation of prickliness with his stubble, it's incredible, the contrast of hot open-mouth kisses and stubble-chin grazes.

"Christian." The moan tears out between my teeth desperately, uncontrollably; It's like a new person has taken over, one completely consumed and possessed by sensation and anticipation and exhilaration. I cannot imagine anyone else having the potential to make me feel like he does, not ever. "Y-yes."

My legs close and clench around his sides as he slides even lower, still moving his mouth against me but not yet touching me where I want it the most. He's teasing me, torturing me. Filling me up with so much sensation, so much throbbing growing down there, intenser with every prolonged moment of him kissing me and working his way down every where but... right there.

My hands shake and gather another fistful of sheet as he somehow manages to slide down even lower, his mouth kissing just right there above my bikini line at the hairless skin there. One firmer kiss into the corner of my pelvis, another... the other corner. Then he grips each of my thighs, holding them... squeezing with his fingers while he suddenly goes straight there, showing me mercy, putting an end to all of my pining, my throbbing.

An instantaneous knee-jerk reaction causes me to arch my pelvis and shut my thighs as he finally unleashes his mouth on me, his moist, slippery tongue, down there. It's lucky that he has hard grip on my thighs otherwise I would succeeded in shutting them over his head, closing myself off from him. The points of his fingertips digging into my skin as he holds my legs parted, it stings and smarts, though not in a painful way. I feel like I'm going to potentially bruise later with delicious imprints of his fingers holding me pried open to him yet I cannot bring myself to truly care.

Everything- all embarrassment, all coherent thought- sails past my head as he applies his tongue, seemingly knowing all the perfect ways to make me feel the best. The top of his warm forehead rests against my pelvis, heating me as he lashes me with flicks and rubs of his tongue, strands of his hair tickling my belly.

"Oh... god, shit," I pant out, my eyes clenching closed, my body shaking. He's so good at this. Too good, in fact. "Christian!"

Uncurling my hands from the sheets as I tremble and shake, I reach down blindly, finding his head, his hair. I use my fingers, tenderly massaging his scalp, combing through the short strands as he starts rocking a little, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable by the way he moves, setting a fast, pulsing rhythm, thrusting into me down there. It doesn't take too long with the way he does it.

It builds, higher and higher, this amazing indescribable feeling. My heart starts pounding in my ears, a whoosh of air sending my ears gushing.

I moan and gasp loudly as it hits me, pounding into me, this carnal bliss, this excruciating pleasure. It sends a burst of flashing white-golden light beneath my closed eyelids as I orgasm, the feeling somehow more stronger than it was the first time he had done this to me in the recreation room.

"Oh, God," I murmur weakly, riding the wave along, my eyes still clenched tightly closed.

I feel the perspiration building between my armpits, the fabric of my shirt and bra, the faint glow of pleasantly exhausted heat as I breathe heavily. He only stops his assault once he knows for sure I've reached orgasm, and obviously he'd both sensed and heard me himself, because he lifts his head and stops as my fingers still compulsively and blindly grip his hair, my body trembling from little aftershocks.

I can only muster the energy to bring my eyes back open when my hands slip from his head, and he stands, the mattress moving. I blink down at him slowly while still regaining my breath, my eyes feeling heavy. I feel a little drugged- assuming this is how people feel when they take drugs or even drink. I feel lethargic, pleasantly blank of all and any thoughts or worries. There is just him and a hot, throbbing pulsing down there that still remains even after he did what he did for me.

All I can do is simply watch him, unable to move, literally paralyzed with pleasure on the bed as Christian stares down at me while unbuttoning his trousers. He steps out of his trousers while still breathing heavily and since I seem only capable of moving my eyes right now, I admire him, how long and muscular his thighs are, as he folds his trousers up neatly.

He drops the folded trousers on the floor. Then he removes his jacket, folds it, and turns back to gaze at me while unbuttoning his business shirt. "Was that exactly how you wanted it, Anastasia?" he asks finally, his breath low.

It takes me a second to regain use of my voice. But when I do even manage, it sounds frail, like I've just returned from running vigorously, "Yes, it... it's exactly how I wanted it. T-thank you." A sudden, embarrassing thought comes to me, self-consciousness slowly settling in. "Was I... I mean, do I taste... unpleasant to you?"

The way he deliberately seems to lick his lips at my question, the way he stares at me while undressing, I feel electrified, burning. "Most men wouldn't do it if the taste was unpleasant, Anastasia." There's gentleness in his tone, understanding. "But sometimes taste isn't as important as the way it feels, in giving unselfish pleasure to another. As for myself, I happen to find you taste delicious." He licks his lips again, managing to leave me breathless. He has definitely gone one further in simply reassuring me. _He thinks I taste to delicious? How can he possibly find all that... bodily fluid delicious?_ " If I could, I'd do it to you every single day if that's what you wanted."

 _Oh, wow_. He seems to know all the perfect things to say, and what's more, he isn't embarrassed to say it at all like I would be. Maybe that's something that comes with age and experience? I don't know.

I lick my own lips to erase their sudden dryness, my cheeks scorching. Then my eyes move. I cannot resist looking down there; At the sizable bulge straining in his underwear. It tells me all I need to know, that fortunately he's still every bit as ready and aroused as I feel.

Undoing the last button on his shirt, he tears it off his shoulders, peeling the sleeves from his arms. Christian's body, it amazes me yet again. Then again, I don't think I will get over how incredibly sexy and amazing the man is. _Everything_ about him is. As I stare at him while he folds his shirt neatly then reaches down to step out of his underwear, I know without a doubt that he's definitely it for me, no question about it. _No other man_. No other man could ever be it for me. I _know it._

My breath hitches in my throat as I catch sight of his organ, his erection, long and standing upright. As he sinks around me onto the mattress and coaxes me to take off my shirt and my bra, I lean back down again, touched by the way he looks at me like no other has looked at me. I've never seen anybody look at me the way he has, ever.

Like he truly sees all of me, every mark on my body. Even my breasts that I have never been too fond of, the shape of my nipples- he looks at me all with such tenderness, with such awe, as if I'm truly this amazing creature to him, something beautiful and attractive, something rare. He makes me feel incredibly beautiful, he washes away all my insecurities simply by looking at me.

"I love these," he murmurs, his gray eyes on my chest as he props himself up on both arms at my sides. "These are beautiful. Everything about you is." And the way he says it, the way he looks... it's impossible not to believe it. "I've missed you so much. It's been ... lonely without you."

"Me, too." My heart aches at hearing of his loneliness. But then it jolts as he leans down, pressing a quick kiss into my left nipple. Then he moves over to the right, doing the same, as I watch curiously. My chest heaves up and down from my unsteady breathing, but my nipples seem to harden at the touch of his lips. "I've missed you so much too."

Christian leans down again, kissing over my left breast again. But this time, he actually parts his lips, covering his mouth over my nipple, heating it with his saliva, his warm mouth as he sucks a little and licks it with the tip of his tongue. I groan at the heavenly feeling. I didn't think I would enjoy someone fussing over my breasts so much.

"No more," I find myself panting desperately. "Please... no more."

Finally, he moves his head back from my breasts, lifting his head to look down at me. His eyebrows arch, his forehead creasing. "No more?" he whispers, sounding startled. I think he has misjudged me, assuming I want no more of it completely. Hastily, I reach up with my hands, gripping onto his biceps, feeling the elongated muscle there, the warmth of his skin.

"No, I... mean, no more of the breasts, not that I want no... no more of this. I... I need you in me."

"Do you, now? You want me in you, my... cock?" _Cock._ I've never heard him actually say that before. Usually I would be turned off, usually finding such words vulgar and crass when guys say it. Only, with Christian, it's different. It's actually... hot. The way it curls off his tongue, so seductively, sort of dirtily. It's _sexy._

"Please. I can't take anymore waiting."

And I get my wish at last. Eyes on nothing else but mine, he moves a hand down between our bodies. And then I feel him, guiding himself into me, pushing in. It doesn't hurt at all, it just only serves to quench that dull throb of need down there for him.

I can't help moaning again, my eyes clenching closed as I lean my head back down on the bed. Him, inside me, it's strangely like getting reacquainted with each other again. It's like making up for loss time, for those excruciating weeks without hearing from him. It's as if my body has been waiting for this exact moment, and now that it's here, it's closure. Comforting.

Now that he's in me, he uses his hand to comb his fingers through the strands of my long hair and then he leans down, kissing me, but the kiss feels different from how it was last time. It's harder, more desperate somehow. Like he's trying to make up for lost time too, like he's kissing away two weeks worth of absence. Before I know it, we both start to move as we kiss, my body matching his own, meeting every thrust, every pound into me.

" _Jesus_ , honey," he gasps against my mouth as I clench around him, reaching breaking point, "Yes. _Yes_."

And after two weeks and so much missing him, so much pining, the reward is extra sweet.

...

Afterwards, we stay as we are for a while, naked on top of the sheets, neither of us having any energy to move.

He lays next to me, pressed against my back with both his arms around me, holding me tightly to him; his unshaven, bristly chin resting in the crook of my neck warmly as we both pant and try to come back down to earth. All of it, being together again, it was above and beyond what I had been craving for.

It was incredible and doing this, right now afterwards, lying naked and snuggling as the cold air in the room blows around our bare skin... I wouldn't give this up for anything else in the entire world. After a while, he lifts his chin out from the crook of my throat and I feel him lean down.

He plants a kiss on my sweaty temple, then uses his fingers, gently brushing strands of hair and my bangs out of my eyes as they remain there glued to my flushed skin from my sweat. I smile as he shifts up so that he is resting on his shoulder, and he grasps me by the chin, gently pushing me so that I fall completely on my back to the mattress.

He leans down again, surprising me this time with a planted kiss on my lips. When he moves back slightly, he looks down at me, evaluating me with his gray eyes. Again, it's impossible not to feel truly seen, not to feel beautiful beneath his gaze.

"I think that definitely just made up for the two weeks without you," I murmur slowly without thought. He responds by giving me a smile and a soft, spine-tingling-inducing chuckle as he reaches down again with his hand, his fingers brushing my cheek.

"I actually have to agree with you on that, Anastasia," he mutters, still smiling. But then his smile deflates a little. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, you never. Maybe you hurt me a little with pleasure, but... it was a _good_ hurt."

I stare up at him. There's a strange expression on his face that I can't quite work out, but then he moves out of the way before I can work it out. He leans down out of sight, kissing me over my earlobe this time while his arms tighten over me.

"Do you have any idea how glad I am that you responded to my text and agreed to meet me here?" he breathes in my ear, making me shiver.

"Not really," I breathe out. I reach up to brush my fingers over the back of his hand, to stroke it. "But I hope you know that I was really glad when you asked me to come here so that we could see each other again. When I hadn't heard from you- like I said earlier- I was beginning to think that you felt guilty over this."

"Do _you_ feel guilty over this?"

It's a loaded question, one I'm not sure how to answer without potentially offending him. "Sometimes, when I'm at the apartment with your daughter, I... I start to," I admit, deciding to be honest. "Like when I left to come here, when I had to make up that I was heading off for the weekend to see my mother, it was then the guilt came to me really badly. Like I felt terrible for lying straight to her face." Pushing back from him a bit I manage to fall onto my side so that I can see his face better. He loosens his hold around me, but still tries to keep me close. I peer up into his eyes, staring at him. "When I was leaving, I... I started going through scenarios in my mind. Like I envisioned myself telling her where I was actually going, and how... she would react."

He swallows at my words, his throat knotting together. " _And_?"

"And it was all different outcomes. Either her yelling at me, or... slapping me. Calling me a liar and feeling betrayed, calling me a... a bad friend. Ending our friendship, even." I start to feel anxious and panicked even simply by speaking out loud about it, even although I know it isn't reality. "It's not anything with you that I feel guilty about, not necessarily. It's just... the deception that I feel guilty about."

I can't help getting the sense that Christian isn't comfortable talking about it; _Well, how can it make anyone feel comfortable?_

Clearing his throat hoarsely, he reaches down between us, and for a moment there I think he's going to touch my breasts. Only he doesn't. He stops at my stomach, and begins stroking it. Stroking down with his forefinger, then around.

"Guess what I'm writing on your skin," he murmurs, his voice different. I realize it's his way of avoiding speaking about Kate too much, his own way of lightening the mood between us.

"OK." And he succeeds in lightening my mood, definitely. I shut my eyes, trying to focus on nothing else but his finger as he spells something out. He does a stroke, then another. "Y-O-U," I manage to get through his tracings on my belly.

"That's correct so far," he confesses, sitting up straighter on his elbow, getting more into the game. "OK. Next."

"M," I breathe, once I recognize. "A-K-E. You make."

"Correct again."

"M-E. You make me."

It takes me a while to correctly guess what he is writing into my skin, but once I do think I get it, I reopen my eyes, staring over at him through my eyelashes with a satisfied smile.

"Well?" He breathes, his own voice laced with amusement at our new distracting game. "What do you think I wrote on your skin, Anastasia?"

Considering this is the very same man I caught grieving the loss of his wife in the dark of the night in the kitchen one night, it's beyond words, just how much knowing that means to me. The fact that I can make him happy... that he seems so much happier and over his divorce I think... it makes my stomach swell with profound emotion.

In response, I move my head in, kissing him lightly on the lips as a wave of joy overcomes me, suffocating me. As I lean back, my smile is still in place. "You make me happy," I whisper, revealing what he spelled out on my skin. "Is that right? Is that what you traced on my skin?"

"That's right. Well done."

"You do too, you know," I mutter back quietly, my voice going shaky. I feel a sudden tightness in my throat, a constriction there. _God, he does make me so happy when around him. Words can't even describe how so damn happy he makes me feel._ "You make me happy too. And peaceful. It's peaceful whenever I'm around you, too. Only the sad thing about it is that... you make me so happy around you that it never feels enough." Reaching up, I comb my fingers through the short strands of his hair, caressing his head, "Like even a few hours with you or... a few days. It's never enough time with you."

He sighs loudly. "I understand what you mean. For a long time there, I always felt that I was just going through the motions in life."

"Really?"

"Mmm. I would get up every morning, go to work. Same old things happening day in, day out. It wasn't really until this started between us that I began to feel like I'm living again." His voice is soft, thoughtful. "I don't think you truly understand the extent of your power over me, and how... good you've been for me."

I think I can actually understand more than he realizes I can. He's been great for me too.

"Well, when will I see you again?" I don't want to get my hopes up, of course. "When can we do this again? When can we... be together?"

"Well..." He purses his lips together in thought as he lifts an arm to run his fingers slowly through his hair, tousling it up. "I was thinking I could rent out a room every second week. Or even earlier. We could spend time together then." He seems to hesitate, as he runs a hand over his face. Then he meets my gaze again, his eyes creased, something uncertain in them. "If that's what you want though, of course? No pressure?"

How can he even ask me that? "Of course I want that," I mutter, unable to help the small giggle of outrage that leaves me along with the words. "I'd like that more than anything. Haven't I made it clear enough to you, just how much I enjoy seeing you? And how much I've missed you?" Surely I have, haven't I? And yet he still clearly has his doubts...

"I just wanted to be sure. I mean, if you didn't want to, of course, then I'd understand completely." _What? Him saying that, it confuses me? What? He wouldn't care if I did end up not wanting to see him again? It wouldn't hurt him? Is that what he's saying?_

"And if I didn't?" I test out loud, eyeing him. "Say, I said I didn't want to see you anymore, then what?"

"Then..." He sighs heavily, combing his hand through his hair again. "Of course, I would have to respect your decision." He shrugs.

"You wouldn't be hurt then?" I cannot help the edge of hurt in my tone, of offense. "You wouldn't care?"

" _Of course_ I would," he argues back, shaking his head. "Anastasia, that isn't what I meant at all. _Of course_ I'd be hurt. And... incredibly pissed off. But what could I do when it's your decision?" The way he voices it, the way he sounds so calm, so logical, it's irritating. "I wouldn't want to force you into anything. If at any moment... if you wanted to stop this, if... you needed to focus on other things like college, then I would try to respect that and stay out of your way completely."

Even although he's trying to explain it to me, I can't say I completely understand what he is trying to say. _So he'd care if I suddenly decided I didn't want to see him anymore? But he'd respect my decision either way?_

I really don't want to start an argument with him, all because I can't understand what he means. So I press my lips together, all the while trying to calm down my heart and let go of the sudden sharp ache that has radiated within me at the feelings he has just brought out of me all thanks to what he just stated. Instead, I lean back against the pillow behind me, trying to relax and clear my mind while I cover an arm over my exposed breasts protectively. Air hits my skin, making me shudder from a slight chill in the room. Christian must notice it.

"You're cold," he murmurs, and I try not to watch him as he moves down to drape the sheets over both of our bodies, covering us in its heavy warmth. "Here, honey. This should feel better."

I clench my eyes tightly shut as he leans back down against me; his muscular arms coming around me again, holding me in a warm, tight embrace while he nuzzles his chin into my hair. Despite how haywire my emotions are over his comments, I manage to somehow drift off, in his arms, feeling safe, warm, and somehow protected.

...

 _"I've got you under my skin... I've got you deep in the heart of me."_

I am brutally woken seconds or minutes, or even hours, later to the soothing crooning of Frank Sinatra singing 'I've Got You Under My Skin'. For a moment, I think it's Christian playing his music, waking me up to it. But then a second later as I stir groggily, opening my eyes slowly, it occurs to me that Christian still is in the hotel bed with me, his arms tight around me so it mustn't have been him getting up to play some good old Frank like I first assumed he had.

 _"So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me... I've got you under my skin."_

I realize, combined with his voice, there's a weird buzzing sound. Then it occurs to me that it's my ring tone, that my phone is going off with a call, and I shoot up in the bed, untangling my arms from Christian as I tear the sheets off.

"Girl after my own heart," I hear Christian murmur sleepily from his place on the bed as I dart around, searching for my phone. "So you even made good old Frank your main ring tone?"

"I did, thanks to you introducing him to me," I admit, distractedly rummaging around the clothes on the floor, searching for my phone in my jeans. I don't find it in any pockets. "I knew you'd appreciate that."

I'm still completely naked and it's freezing in the hotel room yet I cannot even bring myself to care. I just need to find my damn phone.

When I do finally spot it near my bag with all my clothes and belongings inside it, I rush towards it, snatching it up hastily. Reading the name on the caller I.D makes my heart pick up in dread, my scalp prickling with panic. _Crap, it's Kate! And here I am, in a hotel room with her father where we are both sleeping off incredible sex..._

I'm not sure whether to tell Christian who the caller is or not, but when I glance over at him nervously, I realize I have to. Already, he's sitting up, leaning against the headboard, watching me curiously. He looks still half-asleep, but alert enough.

"Who is it?" he asks, his voice rough from interrupted sleep.

Frank's voice continues to carry on with the song. Instead, I decide to fill him in later. I give him a quick apologetic smile while rushing towards the bathroom. Once safely inside with the door closed, I answer.

"Hey, Kate."

"Jesus, Ana. I've been worried over whether you made it to your mom's OK or not?" Oh, crap. I said I'd text her or call her the instance I got in so she wouldn't worry. She sounds angry- probably deservedly so. ""You said you'd contact me as soon as you got in?"

"Kate, I am so sorry. I completely forgot to." I grimace as I wander around the bathroom, my bare feet slapping against the cool tiles. I take a deep breath, before saying, "I was overtaken by Mom bombarding me with questions on how college has been. It completely slipped my mind."

"But you're OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I got here fine."

"OK, just so long as you are safe." To my relief, she sounds placated. "Say hi to your Mom for me." I grimace again.

"Of course, I will. See you on Sunday sometime, probably in the afternoon."

"OK then. I'll miss you."

"Yeah, you too, Kate."

"Love you and I'll see you then. Bye."

 _She loves me? Would she still if she knew?_

"Um, yeah, love you too. Bye." I hang up, then set my cell on the basin while going to the toilet.

I flush and return to the sink to wash my hands, my eyes immediately meeting my reflection in the mirror as I stare back at myself. My eyes drift down to my nakedness and my breasts. My lips appear swollen, probably from all the kissing last night. My nipples certainly feel a little tender too. Probably from Christian's special attention to them.

Shaking my head, I meet my blue-eyed, wide gaze again, staring hard at myself.

I feel ill, all of a sudden. Ill with shooting anxiety. Poor Kate. I had completely forgotten to call or text her to let her know I had arrived safely. She was scared and worried, probably fearful I had gotten lost or murdered or raped or something. Yet I wasn't any of that; I was just overtaken by being with her father, with re-familiarizing myself with him.

I am a terrible person. _What the hell type of person has a sort of relationship with her best friends dad, then lies about it?_

No, I am worse than just terrible. I am-

"Ana?" Christian's voice suddenly tears me out of my self-loathing. I jump, turning towards the door. "Ana, honey, are you all right?"

Grabbing my cell, I open the door, heading back out slowly. I find Christian where he was when I'd left him, sitting up in bed, the sheet covering everything below his waist.

"Who was it?" he asks again, patting the mattress gently with the palm of his hand, inviting me back. He must see something on my face that gives me away, because he adds warily with an edge of concern, "You look paler than usual? Did something happen?"

I take a deep breath before stepping back towards the bed. He opens the sheet for me, and I slide back in, sighing as he immediately moves closer, enveloping me in his warmth again, his body heat. Pushing aside all my ill feelings, my self-loathing and anxiety, it's hard.

"It was your daughter," I breathe quietly, finding I don't have the strength to look at him. "There's nothing wrong with her, she's good. It's just... she asked me to contact her as soon as I got to my mother's, and I promised I would." Bracing myself, I turn to look at him nervously. He just stares at me, patiently waiting. "I just forgot to, so she called me worried that something may have happened to me."

"And she believed you?"

"Yeah, she did. She definitely did."

If I'm not mistaken, I think I see Christian relax a little, his shoulders sagging as if an invisible weight has been lifted. "Then that's good," he murmurs, relief in his tone. "I thought perhaps with the way you were reacting, that something truly bad had happened. An accident with your mother or Katherine."

"No, nothing like that. It was... just your daughter."

He must see that I'm still bothered, because he says after a moment, "Then are you all right?"

 _Am I all right? God, how am I meant to answer that when I am so many different things right now?_

He reaches over, grasping onto my hand, squeezing it gently. "Honey, what's wrong? You look upset."

"I'm not so much... upset. I'm just... I don't know."

"Tell me. You can talk to me." I glance over, concern written on Christian's face. His gray eyes are shining, shining with what seems worry, worry and what? Fear? He squeezes my hand again, then brings it up to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles twice while the bristly stubble on his unshaven chin buffers me, making my heart lighten. I was not expecting him to do that.

"I just... I feel like a horrible person," I confess uneasily, grimacing miserably. "Lately I've felt that way, just... a terrible friend. And Kate severing our friendship- the thought devastates me."

Christian takes a sharp breath at my words as he leans down to press a small kiss against my knuckles again slowly. Then he lifts his head, meeting my gaze. The look in his eyes due to my confession... there's his own shame there, his own guilt, I think. He closes his eyes for a second, then reopens them. "Do you want this to stop?" he breathes, his face scrutinizing mine. "Is that what you want? Is this... _too much_ for you?"

 _Do I want this to stop?_ My head whirls in confusion at the conclusion he's came too. But once that confusion slowly subsides, I have to think his question over. _Do I want this to stop?_ Could _I ask for this to stop?_

I stare down at the sheets, swallowing back a painful lump in my throat.

No, is my answer after some silent thought, with deep clarity, with deep certainty. No, I don't want this to stop with Christian. Not ever. It probably makes me selfish, but it's true. The thought of stopping this, it seems impossible. And we've gotten this far. I could never ask for this to stop, could I? Because I know how I feel, and my feelings are too deep. They aren't feelings that you can just... switch off like a tap.

Tears prick my eyes, which is embarrassing. Crying in front of him is not something I want to do.

"No, I couldn't," I whisper, my heart seizing, twisting painfully. "I couldn't want this to stop even if I tried. No matter how horrible a person it makes me feel, and an even more horrible friend to Kate, I can't even bring myself to start being OK with the idea of this ending." I turn to look at him, my eyes a little blurry from my unshed tears. He kisses my hand again then breathes into my skin deeply, in a way that I feel is almost thankful, a way that is almost expressing relief or even gratitude over my answer. "I can't ever imagine not being with you despite the... the potential consequences. Selfish of me, I know, but... it's the truth."

"Then consider me incredibly selfish as well," he mutters strongly, his voice edged with irritation. "When I said that you make me happy, I wasn't kidding around. I haven't felt this happy in years- and I believe I've already told you that I didn't think it attainable for me to feel happiness ever again, and yet... _here_ we are."

Hope and relief flares in my own heart at his words. _So he doesn't want this to stop either? He couldn't possibly ever either? But at the risk of losing his only daughter and ruining her trust in him... all because of me?_

"Here _you_ are," he adds, then he leans down, pressing a light kiss into my hand again while giving my hand another squeeze. "I'm selfish enough that I know with complete conviction that I don't want this to end between us, I don't want this- _all_ of it, this happiness... this completeness- to end. But _if_ \- and _when_ \- it becomes too difficult for you, if it becomes too much of a heavy burden on your conscience, then I'd understand completely."

His admission brings me back to however long ago it was, our conversation on him saying he'd be OK and respectful of my decision had I ever wanted this to stop between us. I had felt upset at the time, even hurt, thinking he was implying that he wouldn't care if I did ever want this to cease between us. I realize now, what he had only meant by that was that he himself didn't want it to stop between us, but he would respect my decision either way if it was what was best for me in regards to my mental health.

I can't think of anything to say in response, but I can only hope my actions make him understand with what I do next. I reach up with my hand, caressing the side of his face. Then I lean in, kissing him, attaching my mouth to his, hoping it says it all. He kisses me back for a long, hard moment, and then I bring up my knees on the bed, crawling over him as I push him back down on the mattress while Christian blindly but impatiently kicks the sheet off his naked body, my fingers tight on the strands in his hair.

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR BEING SO KIND AND NICE WITH YOUR WELL WISHES, IT MEANS A LOT. MY FINGERS STILL A BIT STIFF BUT AT LEAST I DIDN'T LOSE IT COMPLETELY AS SOME OF YOU SAID, WHICH IS A RELIEF LOL.

HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER AND THAT IT WASN'T TOO DRAMATIC. JUST A BIT OF TURMOIL BETWEEN THESE TWO, A LITTLE ANGST SOMEWHAT. DON'T WORRY, CHRISTIAN SAYS HE WILL 'RESPECT HER DECISION' BUT NATURALLY, HE COULDN'T LET HER GO EASILY- LIKES/IS FALLING FOR HER MORE THAN HE LETS ON- HE WOULD BE HIS USUAL JEALOUS SELF, WHICH WILL REAR ITS HEAD NEXT CHAPTER WHEN IT COMES TO A CERTAIN PERSON HE SEES WITH ANA.

AS ALWAYS, I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS AND APPRECIATE THEM SO MUCH!


	25. Chapter 25

**IN TOO DEEP**

 **CHAPTER 25**

What an amazing weekend, probably one of the best ones I've had in a long time. For once, there's no hours spent doing homework or having to cook for Kate back in our campus apartment so neither of us starve. For once, it's just simply decadently lazy. Blissful. Somehow easy and simple.

All Saturday, Christian and I spend our entire day in the Heathman master suite, just lying around in the bed, tangled beneath the sheets.

We do nothing but order room service and eat. Then we talk, and kiss, eat some more, and then maybe talk all over again.

But sadly, like I am noticing lately ever ytime I am around him, time goes too quickly. Before I know it, I'm waking on a bright and early Sunday morning where I'll have to leave and part ways with Christian until we see each other again.

I'll have to return back to the apartment and normal college life all over again. And I actually dread it. The mere thought, it leaves the faintest impression of a weird gaping hole inside the center of my chest.

Time is obviously not on my side, and it sucks. I find myself not quite ready for this to end yet.

Why can't the outside world just shut up and go away for a little while longer so that it's just me and him?

Why can't time stand still for once and work in my favor?

The bed moves a little on his side, making his wakefulness known to me. A little reluctantly, I turn on my back, peering over down at him. Just as my suspicions told me, he's awake now, just as I thought. Christian rubs his eyes, a loud yawn escaping him as he rests on the pillow next to mine. The luxurious silk sheets from the hotel- they've crumpled just inches below his belly button, making his nudity below the sheets even more visible to me. I flush at the thought of last night and what it had entailed between us, much like the evening before it. Now, sex isn't so much such a strange thing that happens in my view anymore. No, now it's completely liberating, completely enjoyable and exciting. Probably because he's made it feel that way for me. His nudity beneath the sheets suddenly brings an awareness into my state as well. I'm wearing no bra, no underwear. I'm as nude as he is and yet, the way it feels, my skin gliding against the cool silk sheets, the occasional way his bare skin would slap and slide against my bare skin...

Nudity doesn't seem to bother me much anymore either. At first, I had been so shy, so self-conscious about baring my body. Now, I've hardly given much thought into it. Now I feel completely at ease and free.

"Morning, Ana," he breathes suddenly as he peers up at me, his voice a little rough and deep from sleep.

"Mmm, a very good morning to you too," I murmur back softly, and then I have to press my lips together to try to stile the impulse to smile over the wicked thought that overcomes me, a thought literally out of nowhere. I wonder what he'd do if I tried to tie him to the bed, preventing him from leaving. I really do wish this weekend hadn't gone so quickly.

"What?" he asks suspiciously after a moment. Apparently me hiding my smile hadn't been so successful after all. "What's got you smiling over there like that, Anastasia?" His voice wavers a little with early morning cheer.

I hesitate while sitting up slowly propped up on an elbow, nibbling down on my bottom lip. Should I tell him the truth? Or would he think I've gone insane?

"I was just thinking how sad it is that it's already a Sunday and that we'll have to be leaving the hotel room very shortly," I murmur, not completely being untruthful. "The time's gone too fast and it isn't fair."

I'm not sure if he believes me or not that that's it. He stares at me for a moment longer, blinking slowly, his eyes glittering. Then he lets out a loud sigh through his nostrils and brings up his left hand, twining his fingers through the strands of his hair absently. "I know what you mean, Anastasia. It went fast for me too."

That wicked thought flashes in my mind again. I'm split between two sides; I want to do it, but on another hand, I'm a little... nervous to.

But then, I just decide, why the heck not? Why bother with feeling shy anymore?

Trying to stifle my grin and failing immediately while I'm at it, I get up on my knees on the mattress, tugging the sheet down slightly off of us. Heat flares around my face and bare chest as I meet and hold Christian's gaze while I move one leg over his stomach to the other side of him, until I manage to safely straddle him around the waist. As I plop back down safely and gently against his stomach, but on him this time rather than the mattress with my knees around him, I see his eyes are hooded as he watches my every move as I sit above him.

There, that wasn't so hard now, was it, on just following through on the first thing my mind tells me to do?

 _And Christian clearly doesn't mind me taking the initiative either.._. After closing his slack jaw and recovering from the shock, he reaches down with both hands, gripping my hips strongly in them.

"Sorry," I mutter without thought, my voice embarrassingly high and husky. "But it was either me sitting on you and straddling you, or me tying you to the bed to prolong this so that we don't have to leave yet. Since I couldn't think of anything to tie you up with, I settled for the first- and most easiest- option."

That spine-tingling chuckle he gives me makes me feel winded. "So you chose holding me down with your temptingly soft body instead?" He sounds breathless, his eyes on nothing else but mine as he resumes caressing me with his hands. I don't think I'll ever enjoy anyone's hands on me like I do his. There's just no way.

"Yep," I whisper.

"Well, either way, I'm not complaining." He licks his lips, something heated building there in his eyes that makes me feel a little warm all over. "You can hold me down with your body whenever you like. For however long you like even."

 _For however long I like?_

"I surrender."

I watch his face closely as he starts dragging his hands up, tracing his finger tips up and down the curvature of my spine gently. It almost tickles. An uncontrollable shiver convulses through me as he licks his lips again, his eyes roaming downwards past my chin. Even although I feel more comfortable with my body now, I still can't help the small niggling feeling to cover my breasts and my nipples as his eyes fixate on them. I suppose I'll never truly get rid of that one insecurity, no matter how positive he reacts over them.

"Your skin feels so good, and soft," he mutters, sort of distractedly, as he traces his fingers back down the length of my spine slowly. When he reaches lower to where my buttocks begins, the hollow dip there, I feel a surge of longing filter through me. "And it's all like that, too. Every part of you- it's so soft and smooth."

He moves back a little while grasping onto my hips, keeping me there, making himself more comfortable as he leans his back and head against the headboard behind him. He bends his knees and legs a little so that I'm a bit more supported with them behind me. Now he's made it so he is sitting up while I straddle him, but because I'm still a little higher and on his stomach, he's essentially getting a face-full of my chest and my breasts. Yet the look shining in his grey eyes, the look that overcomes him at the close proximity between my breasts and his face, you'd think he's at a buffet. Or more aptly that he's seeing his favorite, good old Frank Sinatra in person.

"It's a little disarming, how happy you seem to look every time you stare at my breasts," I mutter with a short laugh, unable to help myself. Well, it's the truth. It _is_ disarming.

" _Really_?" I'm graced with another spine-tingling chuckle and a smile as he moves his hands, laying them on each of my shoulder blades, his eyes going right... there. To them. Again. "Is it really that disarming to you?" His brows arch.

"It is." I don't even know why he has to ask. "Really."

"I'm sorry, Ana, but..." He clears his throat hoarsely, his hands slipping down my shoulders to the front of me, until he finally strokes the skin beneath my breasts gently. "I can't seem to help myself." I can't stop the laugh that escapes me at his obvious enjoyment, at how much he's truly enjoying himself. The smile on his face, the humor in his eyes, it's infectious. "I just love these." Without warning, he bends forward with his head, until the tip of his nose is barely inches from my right nipple. His breaths fan across my nipple, warm and steady. "But I'm sure I've already expressed enough by now just how much so that I love these..." He doesn't even prepare me for it when he opens his mouth to capture my entire nipple in it, his tongue warm. Oh... wow.

Instinctively my hands raise until I rest them in his hair, digging into the short strands of his scalp, holding him there.

I mightn't like my breasts but... with the way he suckles, the warmth and vibration it sends straight through the delicate skin on my nipple as he hums his appreciation throatily. It feels so good. Yes, so I mightn't like my breasts but the way he makes me feel so good with them, the way he pays them attention the way he does... As he releases that nipple, he does it to the other one, and a pang of sharp, hot longing darts through me. My back arches automatically, pushing my breasts into him, my long hair spilling wildly down my bare back, my fingers tightening around his head.

"That's definitely one way to start making me like- and _even feel_ comfortable- with my breasts," I gush out, realizing how hard and heavy I'm panting.

"Well, you should be comfortable with them." He's practically speaking to my nipple.

"That's easier said than done though," I murmur shakily. "Don't you remember being my age and having body hang ups?" Surely he never did though. His body is faultless, even with the puckered scars on his chest.

"Of course I did," he breathes back with a tremulous chuckle. "I recall a time there where I wouldn't ever take off my shirt." Him telling me this, I find it both sad yet reassuring.

As Christian releases my nipple and leans back to peer up at me, he's breathing and panting just as hard as I am, I realize. Evidently just as affected as I am, things quickly turn into another.

All he has to do is hold me up a little with his hands grasping around my hips, "Stay where you are," and then he tilts with his pelvis a little, until he's finding me and he's entering inside me with me still seated on him.

He's hard and ready, and apparently his displays of appreciation over my breasts have easily readied me for him. It's painless and quick as he fills me, and then he starts to move, pushing in, out, and it doesn't take me long to follow the rhythm he's began.

It begins to feel good at once and I groan, tossing my head back, my fingers tangling in his hair. He uses my head-falling back to his advantage, a low grunt of his own escaping him as he strokes his nose into my throat, before beginning to use the slippery, hot flesh of his tongue.

It's definitely a nice way to wake up on a Sunday morning. But it's only going to make having to leave that much harder in the end when the time comes...

...

Like multiple times throughout this weekend, I end up dozing serenely, curled up in his arms, my head resting against his chest in the silk sheets. With my ear pressed up against his warm chest the way it is, I think, if I focus hard enough, if I listen carefully enough, I can start to hear his heart beat. How smoothly it pounds in tempo, how it's like music within it's own right.

One of his large hands is in my hair, his fingers smoothing back the strands gently, soothingly. He tucks a strand behind my ear, then does it with a few other stray strands. And then I have to smile quietly against his skin as his thumb strokes and plays with my earlobe a little.

"Do you know what I'm doing right now?" I whisper, hardly caring how half-asleep and incoherent I must sound to him. But apparently he must be able to understand me anyway.

"What are you doing, Ana?" His voice reverberates through his chest, sending me buzzing with vibration.

"I can hear your heart beating in your chest," I admit. "I'm listening to it."

"Can you hear my insides and bones creaking too?" The way he asks it, sort of laced with lightheartedness, I know it's meant as a joke. I don't get it though.

Although reluctantly, I tilt my head upwards a little to look up at him. I find he's staring down at me contemplatively as he brushes my hair with his fingers, his head propped up high on the pillows. I raise my eyebrows up at him in question wryly.

"And what about the cobwebs?" he murmurs next, but his face distorts with playfulness. "Can you notice cobwebs inside of me too?" He elaborates a second later with a shaking voice filled with laughter, "Rickety creaking bones and cobwebs from old age?"

It took me a moment too long to realize Christian was joking about his age. Him and his self-depreciating humor.

"Ha-ha." Reaching up with my hand, I slap him on his arm lightly. He goes out of his way to feign hurt over it, but the light in his grey eyes tells me he's still teasing. "Very funny. You know you aren't that old."

"Are you sure about that?" He mutters wryly. "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. Besides, compared to you, I'm practically ancient."

"Ancient? You wish." It's both irritating yet funny, how self-depreciating he is, especially when it comes to his age. But I know he's wrong.

I stare at him, watching his mood deflate a little somehow. The humor gradually fades from his expression, from his eyes. "I think we better unfortunately make a start on getting dressed and getting ready to leave sooner or later," he says, any traces of teasing gone. He must see the expression that comes across my face at the mention because he sighs and nods in response. "I know, Ana. I wish we could spend another full day here too, but we can't." He sounds disappointed. Uneasy at the thought, even. "I have to be back for work tomorrow. And you have to get back to the campus for your classes tomorrow, after all."

"I know, I just don't want to."

"Me neither, but come on..." Before I can protest, he wiggles his way out from beneath me, standing from the bed, entirely naked with his glorious back and buttocks facing me. As he bends down to grab some clothes, I can't help the small huff of amusement that escapes from me. Unfortunately for me, Christian hears it. He pauses from gathering a fresh pair of his underwear and trousers to glance over at me questioningly. "What?"

"Cobwebs and creaking bones, did you say?" I mutter teasingly. "Well, have to say Mr Grey, there's nothing creaky or cobwebby about that fine ass of yours."

"Fine ass?" He repeats in astonishment, and then he makes a show of deliberately facing me with that 'fine ass' of his as he steps into his underwear. And this is so good, so much fun. The playfulness. The teasing and making fun of himself. Christian grins at me as he steps into his trousers. "Was my ass still 'fine' after that little floor show?"

"Definitely," I murmur without missing a beat. "Maybe even more so."

"So next weekend? Friday, same place?" Christian changes topic as I finally force myself out of the too comfy bed. He sounds uncertain, but also hopeful, like he's unsure whether I've changed my mind or not yet at the same time really hoping I haven't. Why he would suspect I would ever change my mind, I have no idea. Of course I'd want to see him again. I'd happily spend every single day with him if I could. _Which, sadly, isn't realistic. And probably would never be._ "Here, down in the foyer, 5.30?"

"I'd love to, of course. You really don't need to ask though. Just tell me when and I'll be there."

"I just thought I'd ask, in case."

"In case I end up changing my mind?" I turn to look at him while getting dressed into a clean shirt. I guess asking wasn't necessary, because the instance I look at him while he pauses from buttoning up a crisp, clean black business shirt, I know that's exactly what he meant. His face says it all.

"Well, you never know, Ana." He shrugs. "Something could always come up. You might have other things you need to do."

 _Other things I need to do? Like what? Does he really think I'd skip the chance to see him again, even if I have other things- like homework and school- to do, especially with how much I've missed him?_ But before I can ask, Christian moves around the room, walking towards the bathroom while carrying his toothbrush and a clean jacket.

"I'm just going to go quickly use the bathroom and brush my teeth. Be right back, honey," he murmurs, closing the door behind him. My cheeks flush; A delayed reaction from the term of endearment that has fallen effortlessly from his mouth. _Honey._ Is it pathetic how much I actually enjoy him calling me that?

Distracting myself despite how giddy I feel, I move around the room, trying to make it somewhat as neat as it was before we occupied it all weekend. I pick up all our clothes, stowing mine into my bag messily. Then I take a bit longer, folding his neatly. The shirt he wore when I first arrived to meet him at the foyer of the Heathman, his light blue dress shirt. I stroke the soft cotton fabric with my fingers, then bring it up to my nose, inhaling the cloth in deeply. Hmm, I think it almost smells like him, how he naturally smells. A hint of his cologne, and his natural masculine musky scent.

I wonder if he would miss it if it disappeared. But surely not; Knowing him, he must have lots of pairs of business shirts. He wouldn't miss just one, would he? Besides, if I'm going to have to wait a whole week until I can see him again...

Before I lose my courage, I unzip my bag, hastily pushing it into there before he can so much as even start to exit the bathroom and notice I've taken it. I find I want something of his, even if it is something small and lousy, like one of his shirts. I just need something physical, even something that he's worn, something to hold on to. I wouldn't admit it to him, of course I wouldn't out of fear of what he'd think or whether it is childish of me or not but... I can see myself cuddling it during the night.

Quickly, I move around again, pulling up the sheets on the bed, trying to make it less messy. I grab the pillow he laid on, shaking it to neaten it and straighten it out of lumps. As I do, something falls from beneath it onto the floor near the bottom of the bed. His cell phone.

As I pick it up, I accidentally end up touching the screen as well. It lights up, illuminating an alert that he has received a message from somebody. He mustn't have heard it go off because we were too preoccupied. Even by merely seeing the alert, it says who the sender is, as well as a bit of the text.

And it's... _her_. My heart seems to stop to a dramatic halt in my chest.

 _I couldn't remember your working schedule and whether you were busy on Sunday's or not, but please call me back when you have the time available to you Christian. There is something I urgently need to speak to you about_.

It's from her. The fact that it says ELENA above the message says it all. His ex. Kate's mom. She's tried to get into contact with him, she wants him to call her back as soon as possible.

I gape at the text before the screen goes black, then I force myself to place his phone carefully on the dresser beside the hotel room bed.

Suddenly, I notice I feel a little ill and nauseous as the realization dawns onto me. He's still in contact with her and she needs to discuss something with him. What if she has decided that she misses him and she wants him back? What if she has broken up with the new partner and wants Christian back into her life?

Taking a deep breath, I try to think it over logically. Maybe I'm overreacting? Of course they are still in contact.

They have a daughter after all, something that permanently ties them together. But it's just the thought- her sending him a text, begging him to contact her because they need to discuss something. And how I'd seen a while back how much their divorce had effected him mentally, how upset he was due to it...

I know he says he feels he's happier now, now that he's started this with me. But what if it isn't enough? What if she did decide she wants him back? Would he take her back easily within a heartbeat?

I don't even want to think about that, because deep down... inside, deep in the heart of me, I think I know that there is a real likelihood that yes, he would take her back if she ever wanted him. How can I even begin to compare with her? Me, just essentially a kid, someone at college?

They have so much history together, so many years of marriage. History that started before I was even properly born. She was his first love, his first everything, as he told me once. How can I even compete with that?

That sick feeling only seems to become more intense when I hear the bathroom door open. Immediately I'm petrified, petrified my expression will somehow give me away, that he'll be able to read what I saw and what I'm thinking simply by just glancing at me. But as I bend down, pretending to be distracted with putting on my shoes, I don't think he notices. In the corner of my eye, I see him crouching down, grabbing his bag of belongings as well. It's only when I see him pat down his sides and his trouser pockets, that he finally speaks, breaking the silence.

"Ana, have you seen where my phone has gone by any chance? I can't remember where I put it last?"

Oh, shit. Crap. Trying to seem casual about it, I get to my feet while shuffling past him, reaching for his phone that I set down on the table. "I found it tangled in the sheets while I tried to make it up again," I explain, handing it to him. I'm not sure how my voice sounds, but I think it's convincing. "The screen lit up when I grabbed it. I think you might have gotten a text too." _There, that's it. That's all I'll mention. I'll just see whether he takes the bait and mentions the text from his ex willingly. If not, fine._

I hear him heave out a heavy sigh. When I risk a glance up at him nervously, I notice Christian looks rather frustrated, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown, his grey eyes squinted as he scrolls with his thumb, reading the text from his ex wife. He doesn't appear overly happy that she has made the attempt to reach out to him. It's a good sign, right?

I can't resist asking about it, even if it seems like I'm prying or not. Besides, I have a right to know, don't I, considering everything we've done and what has started between us lately? "Are you both in contact with each other a lot?" I ask, a little reluctantly though. I'm not sure how he'll take it.

He brings up an arm, running his fingers slowly through his hair as he finally meets my gaze. If I'm not mistaken, I think I see a little bit of wariness in his eyes, in his expression. Is he afraid himself of how _I'll_ react? "Not really all that much. Probably about once every three months or so, maybe even more," he explains, his voice low. "Katherine usually lets me know if there's something her mother needs. And, as you know yourself, the last time we had contact face-to-face was when we both attended the graduation ceremony for you girls. She reaches out and texts me now and then, depending on if there is something she feels I need to know regarding Katherine. _" Hmm, so could that only be why she is contacting him now? She wants him to call her about Kate?_

I thought I would feel better hearing that. That I would even feel reassured somehow. Weirdly, I don't at all.

"And do you think that's why she's asking you to call her?" I murmur, though it takes all I have to keep my voice normal. "Because of something to do with Kate?"

"I don't know, Ana. I won't be sure until I call her and find out what she wants." He doesn't sound happy or too bothered that she's made contact either way. He shrugs once, shutting his phone off. He tucks it securely in the back pocket of his trousers. "I'll call her later and find out then."

"You can call her back now, if you want?" I hear it the second I say it, and I feel my cheeks redden in embarrassment. My voice cracks, and at last it seems to fail me in a super obvious way, showing my insecurities, my fear over him hearing from the ex wife. I clear my throat, dropping my gaze to my shoes, before finishing, "Don't let me stop you. I've almost got all my things ready to leave."

Moving past him while avoiding his eyes as much as I'm able to, I focus on grabbing my bag while letting the long strands of my hair fall over the sides of my face protectively like a curtain. It's better this way. I can't risk him seeing my face in case he notices something is easily off about me. I lift up my bag, flinging the strap around my shoulder, my stomach in knots with nausea still.

"Ana, what's going on in your mind?" My body stiffens and freezes at the sound of his voice. "I can sense that something's going on with you?" His voice is quiet, concerned.

 _God, am I that obvious? Can he truly read me that well even without so much as having to look at me? Am I that transparent to him?_ Apparently so.

His tone is my undoing, making my eyes blur. "I hate that you seem to be able to read me so easily," I mutter weakly, a short miserable laugh escaping along with it.

He must have moved closer to me, because before I know it, he's reaching down, grabbing onto my hand in both of his. He guides my hand up towards his face, gently turns my hand over by the wrist, and bends down, planting a tender kiss into the center of my palm while his other hand and fingers gently smooth out my fingers and strokes them. Then he lays another kiss against my palm, and my heart seizes up painfully. It's a feeling I've never felt before, one rather impossible to describe. His actions seem to add weight to my despair and all of the millions of emotions dashing through me, yet the sensation of his finger tips brushing against mine, combined with his chapped, warm lips on my skin, it makes me feel confusingly mushy as well.

"If regrets are starting to surface for you over what we are doing," he murmurs softly into my hand, breathing over my skin, "I would prefer that you talk to me about it openly instead of holding it against me, honey."

 _Honey. Gah._ That, and his seemingly automatic conclusion that I must be regretting this...

"It isn't that at all, Christian. It has nothing to do with regrets or anything like that at all," I mutter, a lump in my throat. _How can he still think that after everything we have said to each other? Haven't I made it clear enough?_

"Then what? What is it?"

Words fail me. I mean, how am I even meant to begin to explain it? My worries that now that the ex has made contact, that it means she's wanting him back? That I'm worried that he still loves her and that what they had and whatever we have, it could never compare to that?

"Are you upset then?" he breathes, somewhat confidently with his guess. Again, I hate that he seems able to read me so clearly. How is it that he is able to do that? "Has the fact that she's messaged me made you upset in any way? Is that the reason for this?"

I can't even seem to find my voice. All I am able to manage is a small nod while refusing to glance in his direction, my eyes building with blurriness and moisture.

I hear him sigh again; A sad, desperate sort of sigh. He's still holding onto my hand, he hasn't given it back to me yet."I won't lie to you, Ana, but... we'll always be a part of each others lives, me and her." His voice is gentle, each word carefully measured and emphasized. Like he desperately needs me to understand. "Elena and I, it's... complicated. We'll always be a part of each other's lives because of what we have together, which is Katherine. Nothing can erase that."

But does that mean that, if she ever were to ask for him back, would he go running immediately to her side without a second's thought? Forget what ever happened between us, because... it means nothing compared to what he had with her?

"So Friday?" I murmur, forcing us to talk about something different. I don't want to burden him due to what is probably my own childish fears and insecurities. What if it only serves to push him away easier because he doesn't want to deal with my immaturity? "I'll meet you here, in the foyer, on Friday, at 5.30 then?"

...

"So you had a good weekend?" Kate asks me the instance I get inside.

She's on my tail, following me to my room for details; I find walking in front of her, with my back to her helps with easily maintaining the lie.

"Yeah, I did. It was good. Things are definitely seeming a lot better with my Mom now that I'm at college and I'm not living with her."

"That's cool then. Cool that you two are finally getting a long a bit better, I mean."

"Yeah. How was your weekend?" I drop my duffel bag on my bed, unzipping it.

"Pretty boring and lonely without you. All I did was catch up on a few things that are due tomorrow."

"Which actually reminds me..." I mutter, pulling out my hairbrush and toothbrush. "...I have something for English due tomorrow that I need to do a few finishing touch-ups on." As I go to pull out all of my clothes carelessly, I pause, a sensation like ice sliding down my stomach hitting me as I spot it crumpled in the bottom of the bag. _Christian's blue business shirt I stole. Shit._ Luckily, I stop myself in time, leaving it in there. While I know the shirt could very well belong to anyone, the fact that it's Kate's fathers, I don't want to take any reckless chances in case she recognizes it. "Anything else happen while I was away?"

"Actually, I forgot to mention it to you but one of the guys in my class and I exchanged numbers," Kate admits, a little breathlessly though sounding proud of herself. "We've been texting all weekend. I think he's keen on doing something."

"Really? Wow?" In all the times I've known her while growing up, Kate has had a few crushes and casual boyfriends here and there, nothing too serious. But it doesn't surprise me she's met a guy at school; She's gorgeous, after all. "Do I know who this guy is?"

She bites down on her lip, thinking that over contemplatively. "Hmm, I don't think so. But he's really hot. Names Craig Richardson."

"OK, well, if his name is Craig Richardson then he definitely doesn't ring any bells." I definitely don't know of any Craig Richardson's in any of my classes so I mustn't know him. "I definitely don't know who he is then."

"He's about six foot, blonde." As Kate eagerly describes him according to his physical features, I notice how lusty-eyed she gets. Usually Kate doesn't get this way about anyone easily. He must mean a big deal to her then. "He asked if I wanted to get a bite to eat tomorrow. He also may have mentioned about heading back to where he lives with his buddies in their dorm."

"Do you think you will go back to his with him?"

"Maybe. I mean, I kind of want to. I wouldn't mind, _you know_." Suddenly she seems all coy and breathless. Definitely uncharacteristic of Kate. "Do you ever feel the same way? I mean, now that we're in college, now that we're eighteen, do you ever feel like you just want to get it over with?"

Her meaning hits me instantly. "You mean have sex?"

"Yeah, have sex," she rolls her eyes at me. "Lose our virginity. I kind of _do_ feel like it's time. Plus, I can tell Craig is keen for it. I heard from one of the girls that he's already done it with this other girl he shares Bio class with. Do you think you'll do it this year? Maybe even with Jose?"

Holy crap. I try to seem unaffected by what she's telling me as I start sorting out all my things, organizing them back in my drawer. "Um, I don't know, Kate, but probably not." Kate doesn't know it, of course she doesn't, but... my virgin status is no longer. What's more, I've had sex probably over roughly five times now (not that I am counting every single time it happens).

What makes this conversation with her all the more unsettling, isn't the fact that it's unexpected and not something I expected to discuss with Kate as yet. Of course, we have been best friends for a very long time and usually there aren't a lot of conversations we don't have, especially about things personal and particularly thought-provoking. But it's mainly due to the fact that I have in fact already done what she's speaking of and, what's more, it's with someone _particularly close_ to her. It's a difficult and dangerous topic to wade my way through.

"But do you like Jose? Because you _have to know_ he likes you, right?"

"Yeah, as a _friend_ and a _fellow student_ ," I murmur uneasily. "Jose and I help each other out with assignments we have difficulties with, that's it, Kate. And besides, he isn't really my type."

"Uh-huh. So Ana Steele suddenly has a type she's into, does she?"

Oh, god. "Um, I guess so," I murmur weakly.

"So what's your type then?"

Older. Handsome. _Your father._ "OK, well, I guess I don't really have a specific type of person, Kate," I say, stumbling around for an answer. She's really put me on the spot and in an awkward situation. "But I guess someone sort of... clean looking?" Clean looking? What? What a random way to put my foot into it.

"Huh. And so Jose isn't 'clean looking' enough for you?" she laughs, calling my bluff.

I shrug my shoulders, feeling my cheeks redden traitorously.

"Well, I definitely think he's into you-"

"-I don't think so, I'm not into him in anyway whatsoever." _There's just your father. It's always been your father, right from the very first moment I laid eyes on him._ "Kate, can we drop this, please?"

She stares me down for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. But then, to my relief, she finally surrenders, laughing again. "Fine, Ana. Whatever you say." She leaves it at that. Thank god.

...

Later that night, in the comfort of my bed, in privacy in the room by myself all in the dark, I lay on my side, my head half on the pillow, half tucked under the soft cloth of Christian's light blue business shirt that I stole in the morning. I rub my cheek against it, sighing longingly, inhaling it in in compulsive gasps.

It smells like him, still even after all these hours. A musty, pleasantly masculine smell. I'm not a smoker, of course I'm not, but... I imagine this is what it must be like. The scent lingering from it of his skin, of all that's purely him, it's my nicotine, something addictive, something I cannot get enough of, with each deep inhale in through my nose. It's probably sad and pathetic, what I'm doing.

But it eases it. It eases the tiniest little ache that has formed inside my chest. One filled with sheer missing. It's only been a couple of hours and yet I miss him already.

Not even just the smell of him. But his voice.

The way he looks when he wakes of a morning, hair unkempt and slightly messy, bright grey eyes dozy and half-asleep. The softness of his elbows compared to the rest of his arms, the slight prickliness of the finest of hairs on his forearms.

How the muscles beneath his biceps stretch and elongate beneath my hands grips on them as he holds me down on the bed. How even just cupping my face with his hands, they are so large and his fingers are so sinewy and long that its like he swallows me whole with them, yet his touch is all gentleness, all tenderness, like I'm something delicate, something made of porcelain and special.

How stretched and contently full I feel when he's inside of me, intimately. His little grunts and groans, the low sexy sounds of them coming from deep in his throat.

Inhaling in his shirt, remembering him, our last moments from today enter my mind...

 _"You ready to head out?" he asks me as he gathers his bag, flinging the strap over his shoulder. "Are you sure you've got everything you brought with you?"_

 _I nod, joining him out of the room slowly. He closes the door to the hotel room up securely behind us and follows me as I lead the way to the elevator, reaching down to press the button that will send it up to our floor. A silence passes between us as we patiently wait. It only serves my mind to run wildly as I desperately try to do something to fill it._

 _I really don't want to have to leave, I don't want to have to say goodbye just yet, but I suppose we have no choice. At least it won't be long until we can hopefully be together again. Friday, here at the Heathman again, like he said._

 _I glance over my shoulder to look at him while we wait, finding him already looking back at me. He holds my gaze for a moment, and it feels like there's this weird shifting in the atmosphere between us, a strange crackling tension there. But then our moment is broken as the elevator dings gently, signalling it's arrival on our floor._

 _The doors slide open, and Christian gestures with his hand for me to go in first. I spin around, resting my back against the wall as I watch him enter himself. He presses the ground floor button to the foyer, then steps back a few paces so that he's resting against the wall near me as well._

 _That shift in atmosphere I begin to feel as we wait in silence again. His closeness, the way he's leaning inches close to me with his shoulder... I become aware of it more than anything else in the entire world. The silence we share in the elevator, it feels weighed down with the sadness of leaving each other, of having to say goodbye until we meet again. My heart feels heavy, a despairing lump in the back of my throat. I wonder if he feels it too._

 _I see his head turn in the corner of my eye, and I turn mine as well, meeting his gaze. His eyes shine back at me, something intense and meaningful in their depths. And then they lower, falling to my lips for a brief moment, before returning to my eyes again. is he trying to tell me something? Is he asking something secretly of me?_

 _"I need to..." He finally speaks, breaking the silence between us, "Can I kiss you goodbye?"_

 _"Yes, please," I whisper needfully, my own gaze dropping down to his mouth. His lips are slightly parted, his tongue between his teeth. "But you don't really need to ask when you already know the answer to that, don't you?"_

 _A spine-tingling chuckle, his eyes glinting in response down at me._

 _Since we're alone all by ourselves in the elevator, neither of us needs to hesitate._

 _We move like magnets, me stepping forward, him stepping back towards me. We collide, and I'm swept back into the wall, his hands catching me around my face as he pushes me up against it. A hiss escapes through his teeth and parted mouth- sharp, violent- and then he's bending down while I'm leaning up on the balls of my feet, polar opposites. His mouth lands on mine and without wasting a second of it, we move together, our lips starting a hard, frenzied rhythm._

 _It's noticeably different than how it's been, his actions at this time compared to all the other times we've been together, certainly all this weekend in the privacy of the master suite; It's rougher, more forceful, illustrating the lack of time and the desperation we have to take full advantage of the opportunity before it all has to end and we go our separate ways._

 _Despite the heaviness of the duffel bag on my shoulder and the way it restricts the movement of my arm, I somehow manage, bringing up both arms, my hands finding his hair, stroking through the soft strands on top of his scalp, trailing down past each of his earlobes, the side of his face and his jaw. As I reach his neck, it happens._

 _With another ding, the elevator brutally interrupts us and alerts us to our arrival on the floor to exit the hotel._

 _I'm the first to break off the kiss, arching back against the wall, panting heavily. I meet his gaze as I do and Christian stares down at me, his eyes luminescent with something akin to how I feel- regret that it's had to end so suddenly, as well as irritation. He's panting just as hard, and he licks his lips as he reaches up to squeeze one of my hands one last time with his fingertips in what feels like a silent goodbye. For now._

 _"See you Friday, right here, 5.30" he manages, sounding winded and restrained. There's an edge to his voice that I haven't heard before also; It sounds dictatorial, like he's telling me between the lines that I better remember to come or else._

 _"Of course," I get out once I catch my breath._

 _He exits and I follow, though feeling unsteady, all sensation in my legs and toes seeming to have vanished. He stops to give me one last look, and I think I hear a low groan passing from him before he regains his own sense of equilibrium._

 _We take different paths; Me, straight to the doors out of the hotel, Christian to the reception desk to return the keys from the room._ _And that was that._

I inhale through my nose again deeply, filling my lungs with the comforting smell from his shirt. God, already I feel like I'm dying to be around him again. Hopefully Friday comes fast.

 **Hey all my lovely readers.**

 **I am so sorry for taking long to update, I had to stop for a while to allow proper recovery so that my finger would heal, but it's working fine now.**

 **Thank you all for your PM's of encouragement and your reviews, I promise I will not ever abandon this story. Now that I'm a lot better and life has settled down with it's craziness I'll be updating regularly again.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this one. I know I promised a jealous Christian but he'll be coming next chapter, sorry. :) IF YOU HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS ON WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO HAPPEN FEEL FREE TO LET ME KNOW**


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

"Yo, Ana-Banana!" Someone calls to me loudly that Monday morning as I get out of my first class for the day. "Wait up!"

I turn and see Jose, who is struggling to push his way through the sea of students to catch up to me in the corridor, both arms full with his textbooks, a beaming wide white smile already on his face.

Ana-Banana though? What the hell?

As he reaches me, he's panting a little from all the effort it took him to get to me. "Hey, thanks for waiting," he murmurs with a shaky exhale.

"No worries, Jose. Ana-Banana though?" I give him a wry smile and his look turns a little embarrassed.

"Anyway, how was your weekend?" We start walking for our next class that we have together, which is English. "Have you completed your assignment that's due today?

After getting home last night, I had crammed it in, doing a few little touch-ups to complete our assignment that's due today. "Yeah, I did luckily," I murmur. "Did you finish yours?"

"Yeah, but only just." He grimaces. "I have no idea if it's right though."

"I guess we'll find out sooner or later, won't we?"

Once we reach our classroom, Jose follows me in, dumping his textbook on the table right next to mine. He pulls his seat back, sitting close to me like he's always done ever since we started this class together. Apparently we're going to be sharing a table again during class, but I honestly don't mind if we do. Since Jose and I have known each other since high school- though not overly personally- it helps to have someone familiar to talk to. Even if it is us just mostly talking about our assignments together, as well as reminiscing on our high school days.

Once class is finished and we hand the teacher our assignments in- with a fresh one that's due in next week- everyone gets to their feet to leave.

"Starting to think I hate this class," Jose grumbles to me as we gather our things. "I never counted on there being so much homework that we have to do. I feel like I'm seriously struggling here."

I take pity on him. "Well, I'd always be more than happy to help, if you want?" Since we both are struggling, I can't see why it would be any problem to help each other out.

"Really? You'd do that?" His eyes twinkle at me as we exit the classroom together. "Hey, I've got an idea. How about maybe we hang out together one afternoon? That way, we could sit down and help each other out?" While the suggestion sounds casual and off-handed, the excitement radiating off Jose is palpable.

"Um, sure, that would be cool. How about one afternoon you come back to my apartment with me and we could sit down and help each other out there?"

"Awesome. How does Wednesday afternoon sound for you?"

"Yeah, that would be great. I'm not doing anything so Wednesday afternoon is good for me."

Awesome. It'll be good to be alone with you, with no other people and no distractions," he says, staring at me intently, something a little strange overcoming his expression. "To study and focus, I mean, of course," he adds quickly with a nervous smile.

We say our goodbyes, and after Jose leaves, it's only after he's gone that I make sense of what he is saying and the significance of it all. OK, so perhaps Kate was right in what she said? Maybe Jose does like me a little bit too much, more than I like him anyway? It never occurred to me, because I am so used to us just talking naturally on a friendly level.

I never assumed it could be anything more to him, but now... thinking it all over, it suddenly sort of makes sense; his eagerness to be around me, his smiles and lingering looks. It isn't just our comradeship over having gone to the same school together previously that has him hanging around me. The awareness, the realization that Kate may be right... my stomach feels a little unsettled at the thought.

I have no interests in Jose other than that of two sort-of friends, of course I don't. And what's developed between me and Christian, well, I think it's sort of stuffed me up, in the meaning that guys my age or slightly older, I have no interest in them whatsoever. They don't appeal to me in anyway; They all seem just like immature little boys- guys that hold no sex appeal to me at all.

 _There's just Christian._

 _Simply Christian._

...

Later that night when I get home to the apartment, I discover Kate's not home yet.

I unlock the door, getting inside, switching on all the lights so it isn't so dark inside.

How odd. Kate usually makes it in before me. I press my phone to come on, the screen illuminating up. It's 5.45. Usually she's home already.

Then I remember our conversation about this Craig Richardson that she's really into. She said he asked her out for a bite to eat. And maybe later, they would head back to his place, where... her virginity card may be taken off her. That's where she must be; She must be busy, off with him.

While I'm happy that she seems so excited and happy about this guy and his apparent hotness, I do hope he doesn't end up hurting her.

 _Which is ironic, really, being concerned this guy may come to hurt my best friend's heart..._

 _When, hello, what about me? The supposed best friend who's happily secretly going off with her father on the weekends, where we get up to all sorts of things, like incredible sex and eating delicious foods? Aren't I such a hypocrite?_

 _Aren't I going to damage her heart more than this Craig guy could ever manage?_

...

By the time Kate stumbles through the door, I'm half-asleep and lazing around on the couch with the TV on in the background for some mindless noise. I'm not doing it to snoop, really. I just want to know that she made it home OK and in one piece. She stumbles into the small living room, dumping her bag heavily on the floor while I sleepily sit up on couch, stifling a yawn.

"Hey, stranger," I tease tiredly. "You're home later than usual?"

"Yeah, well. What I told you about last night happened." She doesn't sound happy. Or anything, really. She just sounds exhausted, probably as exhausted as I am for forcing myself to stay up late to check on her.

She comes around the couch, practically falling into the seat next to me. I notice she isn't wearing the same clothes that she had on this morning when we left for our classes. I'm fairly certain she was wearing a nice pair of jeans and a pretty ruffled blouse this morning before we left. Now she's wearing a denim skirt with the blouse.

"I'm pretty sure you never wore that skirt this morning?" I murmur, eyeing her.

"Yeah, you're right. That's because I brought a spare change of clothes in my bag this morning."

"How did everything go?" I'm pleased I sound simply interested and not like I'm forcing her to tell me every detail. "Did you and Craig, um, get that bite to eat?"

"We did, although we weren't there for long."

"Oh?"

"He was pretty desperate to take me back to his room." She grimaces, then sighs. "It all happened really quickly, really. One minute we were eating, then the next, he's like, 'Let's go'. It was all pretty clinical and quick." I think it's the sex part she's referring to as clinical, but I don't want to push her into it if she isn't comfortable speaking about it with me. But then she elaborates in a rush, "It's all literally a blur. And it wasn't really what I expected, you know? I just didn't expect it to be like that at all..." Her voice wavers and catches a little. Uh-oh. Being friends with Kate and knowing her for as long as I have, I've become attuned to knowing when she's on the verge of a breakdown. "It was like, one second we're kissing on his bed. Then the next, he's got the condom on and he's in me. It was... weird. We didn't even kiss much during or afterwards at all."

I'm saddened to think it wasn't what Kate expected, her first time. And it's sad to hear that this Craig wasn't at all loving or romantic with her, which I know is something she has always dreamed of; Finding that one person, experiencing her first time where the guy's all gentle and sweet and loving. Kate's told me this a few times; How her ideal first time would go, what she expects. And by the sounds of it, none of that happened. She doesn't deserve that.

"Oh, Kate. That really sucks," I murmur sadly. "You deserved so much more."

"It didn't even really feel that good. I mean, it hurt a little, and maybe that was because... I wasn't ready or something?" She sighs loudly, making a face. "I don't know. It just wasn't what I was expecting at all. You could tell it was just a quick thing for him. Like, 'Hurry it up. I just want to get off.' He didn't really care whether it hurt at all..."

I can't help thinking of the first time I had my experience, on The Grace. He had made sure and took the time so that I felt completely comfortable. He had gone out of his way to make sure I felt comfortable and not vulnerable in anyway whatsoever. Kate's experience sounds the complete opposite to that, and it isn't fair. She deserved so much better. But then too, I can't help wondering if it's an age thing. Craig just wanted to get himself off, and as soon as humanly possible. He didn't really factor in how Kate would feel at all, with it being her first time and all.

"It was just super disappointing," Kate continues. "And it didn't even feel like I thought it would, you know?" Reaching over, I slide my arm around her neck, pulling her close. I can tell she definitely needs the comfort right now. "Like it was just... weird. It felt weird, like... his body part going into mine? Just... strange, you know?"

"I know what you mean. It felt weird for me too, the first time," I murmur comfortingly without thinking, hugging her. "But after that, once you do it a few more times, it actually feels so much better. I think the first time is sort of overrated; You put some much expectation into it that you are bound to be disappointed in one way or another, but... you really deserved so much more than how it went tonight, Kate."

Oh, shit. Kate's entire body stiffens next to me on the couch at the careless comments that have escaped my mouth. My eyes clench closed involuntarily as my fingers cease rubbing her arm. I had only meant to say it to comfort her, but... I know I've gone and put my foot into it.

"Ana, what?" I shouldn't be surprised when I hear the note of alarm in Kate's voice. "Are you telling me that you've already done it with someone? And... by the sounds of it, it's happened more than once considering all that you just told me?"

I hold myself completely still, not even totally sure I'm still breathing.

"Since when? When did this happen?" There's a slight note of accusation in her voice.

God. Why am I so stupid?

"Ana?" She wriggles my arm out from her back and I reach down, clasping both hands tightly in my lap anxiously. "You can't just drop a bomb like that into the middle of a conversation and not expect me to ask about it?"

There's no avoiding it, and I've already dug myself into a deep hole. Kate's always been relentless.

Bracing myself, I slowly reopen my eyes to peer over at her cautiously. She's staring at me, her eyes bright with alarm, with interest. On a brighter note, at least she isn't on the verge of an emotional breakdown anymore after her lousy first time experienced tonight.

"Um, I... I've already lost my virginity, Kate." I don't even recognize the sound of my voice as I declare it to her. I sound so frail, so unsteady and weak. Guilty. Actually, my voice matches pretty much how I'm feeling on the inside rather perfectly. I'm quivering.

"What? Since when?" she demands in outrage.

"Since maybe, um, last year. I can't really remember the specific time or date of when it was." Liar, my brain squeals at me. You remember the exact date.

"Right. And with who?" I wish I had the power to fade into goo so that I can properly sink off the couch and hide as a way of avoiding having to answer this. "Who was the lucky guy?"

"Um... just some guy." I can't tell her who it was. Of course, I can't. "Some guy I met that I... I thought was cute enough at the time to do it with." I feel bad, cheapening what I experienced with Christian, obviously, into something casual and not meaningful. But it has to be done. "And it was near my birthday and I... I really wanted the experience as a sort of, gift that I can always take with me and hold onto forever." There, it's only half the truth. But I know it sounds realistic and convincing enough.

"Huh. And do I know who this guy is?"

Shit, how to get out of this? "Um, maybe."

"So who is he? A guy from our school?"

I glance down at my hands that are still folded tightly in my lap. Funny. I realize they are shaking. "Um, maybe. I... I'm sorry but I sort of don't want to go into too much specific detail into his name." It's really the best I can do.

"Well, I have to say I'm feeling a little upset here that you never told me." There it is again. That note of accusation in her voice, combined with betrayal and hurt. "Usually we tell each other everything?"

"And I still do," I get out desperately, wanting to ease her sense of hurt. "I still do tell you everything, Kate. I promise you that I do." No, you don't, that irritating voice in my head speaks up at me again. You aren't telling her everything. Not about last weekend at the Heathman, and not about this upcoming weekend either.

"But not about this? You never told me about this?"

"Yeah, because it's..." I pause, desperately searching for how to explain. "This is something different, Kate. Something personal. Something that I didn't feel comfortable speaking to you about." I glance up at her miserably to check and make sure I've made sense to her.

"Yeah, but I told you? I told you just then about what happened with Craig, didn't I?"

"Well, that's your choice if you want to tell me all the specifics. But as for me, when it comes to that... I just think it would be better if we kept that side of it personal and private."

"Yeah, I don't know." Her voice is flat and twisted, her eyes glinting at me. It's like she's looking at me in a completely new different way, with a new set of eyes. It hurts. "It's like... what else have you kept from me?"

"Nothing," it bursts out of me, hard and desperate. "There's nothing else I've kept from you, Kate! I swear!" Great, now I feel like I'm the one of the verge of an emotional breakdown. The panic settles in as I hold her gaze desperately, my heart pounding. God, if she knew... I know what would happen. Our friendship would end forever. And I don't want that. I can't lose her. "You're my best friend," I get out.

"Am I though?" It's still there in her voice and I hate it. That flat, suspicious, heartless tone. "If you can't even tell me about something like this?"

"Of course, you are." I'm hyperventilating, it feels like. "Of course, we're still best friends!"

Kate gets up off the couch slowly, reaching down to grab her bag that she dumped on the floor. I can't help feeling like everything is ruined, that she hates me now. Well, maybe she hates me a lot less than she would if she finds out actually who the man was that I've been intimate with. I'm sure she'll hate me officially after all of that...

"Kate, please. Please don't be mad at me."

"God Ana..." She sighs heavily, turning to look at me. "I'm not mad at you. It's just... it's completely different from what I was expecting and I'm really tired right now." She throws her bag over her shoulder. "I'm going to go to bed, OK?"

OK. I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too," she murmurs quietly, but that tone is still there, that tone that hints that she sees me differently now and that she isn't completely sure what to believe of me. "See you tomorrow."

...

"Are you following me now, Jose?"

That Wednesday, Jose ends up coming back to the apartment with me so that we can do some studying together. We sit at the kitchen table, our textbooks and loose paper sprawled out everywhere around us, Jose sitting next to me in his own seat. Every now and then, his warm elbow keeps touching mine and I can't tell if he's doing it on purpose to invade my personal space, but... it's sort of unnerving. And distracting.

Does my explanation make it simpler to understand or do I need to go over it again?" I continue, bringing my eyes over to meet his. It's been slow going and sort of hopeless.

For the past twenty minutes, I have been going over one of the assignments that is due next week on the Monday, explaining to him in hopefully what is an easier, basic way to understand what the question is asking.

But just like before, he blinks at me blankly, clearly distracted. Something's making it hard for him to concentrate because I can tell he keeps zoning off, his dark eyes appearing a little hazy and distant every time I talk. He has an elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. He strokes a slightly brown-stubble dusted chin with long fingers.

"Gee, I'm sorry, Ana," he huffs out uncomfortably, shifting a little in his seat. "I think you've lost me again. I can't seem to wrap my head around it all."

"OK, well, how about we have a short break?" I suggest, because I could really use one too. I majorly need some coffee. "Can I make you a cup of coffee?"

"Uh, sure. Coffee sounds awesome."

I slide out of my chair, approaching the joined kitchenette to make two cups for us. I flick on the kettle while grabbing two mugs.

"This place is pretty comfy," he says, making conversation, I guess. I turn to find him rising to his feet. He lifts both arms, stretching them above his head, his joints cracking and the bottom of his shirt lifting a little around his belly, exposing tanned skin beneath it. "Are you getting used to living alone?"

"Well, I'm not really living alone exactly. Kate lives here too."

"Right, oh yeah. I forgot about her." His eyes drift off towards the living room, then down the short hallway. "So, where's your room?" He sounds casual and curious about it, but I get the weird impression that he's angling for me to invite him to hang out in it with me.

Tactfully, I ignore his question, asking instead, "How many sugars do you like in your coffee?"

"Oh, just one, thanks." He sounds bad. There is no way I am inviting him into my bedroom. "Anyway, uh, where is your roomy Kate off to?"

"That's the thing. I'm not even sure." Kate hadn't told me she would be away late tonight. Then again, it's really no surprise that she hadn't told me. After our conversation on Monday night, where I admitted I'd already lost my virginity before she had, sadly we haven't been talking much. Her mind has just been... elsewhere. "OK," I murmur brightly after shoving the milk back in the fridge. "Here is our coffees." I grab both our mugs while carefully stepping over towards him, cautious not to spill it on the ground. "Caffeine should wake us up and make us more alert for study."

"Thank you," he mutters gratefully, and his dark eyes remain on mine as he brings his mug up to his mouth. He takes a sip of the coffee, eyes still on me. Then after swallowing, he says, "You know, it's cool that we can hang out more like this."

I swallow down my own mouthful of coffee with a moan in agreement.

"I know it's probably always been obvious, but... I've always really liked you, Ana. I think you are probably the most coolest, prettiest girl compared to everyone else."

Oh, god. I almost choke.

"Um, that's really nice of you to say, Jose, but very untrue." I laugh weakly.

"Untrue?" He arches his eyebrows at me, looking determined for some reason. "Well, believe me, it's not untrue to me. I really do think you are the prettiest and most coolest girl, Ana."

"Oh, um. Thanks." I smile at him weakly while pulling my chair back. "But how about we get back into doing this study now?" The disappointment radiates off him as I sit back down, placing my mug on the table. Clearly he wasn't expecting me to shut the conversation down. I pull the sheets of paper towards me, clearing my throat, forcing myself to get stuck back into it. "We've got a lot to still go through so it's probably going to take us a while?"

"Hold up a second," Jose murmurs urgently, sliding back into his seat next to me. He plops his own mug down near his textbook carefully. "There's just something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Ana. And I really didn't want to do it during class or where there's, you know, noisy distractions."

Distantly, I think I hear the front door to the apartment open. There's a little bit of movement and I had left the door unlocked obviously, so Kate could let herself in. Pretty sure it's her arriving home from wherever it is she's been out to.

"So, um, Ana, I..." It dawns onto me then, what's happening, as I register how hoarse and nervous his voice sounds. "I've been meaning to tell you...em, that is, if you haven't worked it out already." He laughs shakily.

He yanks his chair a little closer so that our faces are inches away from each other, the legs scraping loudly on the linoleum floor. He winces at the sound and I wince as well, though more so at the close proximity he's placed with our faces. He looks a little anxious and sweaty, if the slight sheen the light throws off on his tanned face is anything to go by.

Oh, God. This is awkward. I think I realize what's coming. And I really wish he wouldn't.

I don't like him in that way whatsoever. There's only one man, only one person who has my complete and utter heart and attention.

"So I, uh... I'm not very good at this, but I just, um, want you to know that I" He pauses while breathing heavily, his dark eyes on my lips. Oh god. Is he going to make a move? Kiss me? Hell no!

"Uh, Jose, I just invited you here to study as friends. I think maybe you've completely misread everything that I-" I get out hastily, but he speaks over me in a low, spaced-out kind of voice.

"I really, really-" he moves in, shiny eyes cast downward to my lips. And then-

BANG, BANG.

There's a thick, loud knock twice on the plaster wall behind us, coming from near the hallway. We both startle at the unexpected sound of it, Jose jumping in his seat and luckily head moving back and further away, me gasping frightfully- yet deep down, major gratefully- as my head whips towards the source of the noise.

My heart sinks deep into my chest as a burn spreads across my cheeks at the sight of the person standing there, glancing between us, having interrupted and- fortunately for me- saved the day from Jose's attempt at making the move on me. Oh wow.

It's Christian, of all people. Christian's here!

Christian stands there, hand frozen midair and curled into a fist from knocking on the wall to interrupt us and grab our attention, his expression unreadable and yet, there's the slightest hint of something bright and heated in those eyes of his. His eyes pass between Jose's face, to mine again intently.

It takes me a belated moment for it to fully sink in. It was him entering the apartment without even knocking, not Kate like I had first suspected. Which means- Oh shit.

He heard everything then. Jose's attempts, how I'm apparently 'so cool and pretty' to him. And how he was just about to move in and go straight for the kill.

"Hello Anastasia," he finally speaks, stepping a few paces forward, closer to us in the room. "And.. friend."

It's impossible to know how he's feeling over what he witnessed. His voice is cool and composed, completely one-level without any hint of what he is feeling seeping through the surface. And now that he isn't half-hidden behind the wall in the entryway, I see that he's holding a gorgeous bouquet of red roses tucked under one arm, wrapped in pink cellophane with a card.

How did he know roses were my favorite flowers, the ones I liked best? And is it really smart of him, bringing flowers when Kate's here?

But what is he doing here right now? Not that I'm not happy to see him now, of course, instead of having to wait a few more unbearable days until we meet again Friday at the Heathman.

My heart is racing furiously in my chest as I look from Christian's face, to the gorgeous flowers under his arm several times. He stares back at me, his jaw tightening, his lips thinning and compressing into a tight line.

I open my mouth to speak, to ask him why he's here, and yet... it fails me. Speech fails me. But then apparently Jose is having no trouble finding his.

"Uh, um... Ana, who is this dude and, uh, how come he just came into your apartment without knocking?" Jose splutters in confusion.

Christian looks at Jose briefly at his question, then meets my gaze again while arching his brows and shaking his head at me, a silent expression there that seems to say, " _Really? This boy?"_

"This dude, as you so eloquently put it is Katherine's father," he explains dryly for me, seeing as my voice has literally up and left the building. I'm speechless. I cannot even think properly right now. "I thought I'd drop in and see how you girls were settling in with the new apartment, but apparently I'm interrupting something." He glances away from the pair of us, instead turning his eyes to his surroundings; the kitchen set-up and where our rooms are.

He hasn't visited the house yet to see what it looks like.

But as the true meaning of his off-handed comment hits me and the panic settles in for him to understand, finally, my voice seems to recover as I mentally heal from the shock of his sudden unexpected arrival here.

"Um, Christian, Jose and I are studying for an assignment that's due to Monday," I breathe weakly, hoping he gets what I'm saying between the lines, my secret explanation and reassurance that this means nothing, that we're simply here for study, not any personal reasons despite what he has evidently overheard and walked into. Then gathering my bearings, I add, "Uh, Jose, this is Christian Grey, Kate's father. Mr Grey, Christian, this is Jose, a friend from school." I stress the friend part, hoping it's subtle but clear enough for him.

Jose stands abruptly and awkwardly from the chair, extending his hand out to Christian. "Uh, hi, Kate's father," he mutters uncertainly, and Christian reaches over, accepting his handshake.

"Jose," Christian nods once, appraising him, and for once, finally I get a sense of how he's feeling as his tone gives him away. It's cold, slightly curt.

Yeah, I don't think he's appreciating Jose being here at all.

"Where's Katherine, Anastasia?" Christian asks, turning to look at me after releasing Jose's hand swiftly. I notice he wipes the back of his hand absently down the front of his trousers before shoving it into his pocket deeply. "Is she even here?" He glances towards the two doors that are our bedrooms. "In her bedroom perhaps?"

As he goes to step towards the doors, I stall him nervously, "Actually, uh, no, she hasn't gotten home yet," I explain. "I'm not sure where she is right now, but she'll probably be home soon." Remembering my manners and trying to not let the hint of desperation I feel for him show, I add, "But why don't you stay here for a while until she shows? Take a seat and I can make you a cup of coffee?"

I reach around the table, pulling an empty seat open for him. I don't know if anyone else notices it, but I see my hand is trembling in all my desperation.

"Kate shouldn't be too long, Mr Grey. And since you are already here, you may as well stay for a while."

I meet his gaze as he turns back around to look at me, and his head cocks to the side, as if he's debating whether to go or not. I try to communicate, through my eyes, to his alone, Please, don't go. I'd hate it if you go. I need you to stay.

"Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?" He shoots a meaningful look into Jose's direction, and for a second there, I had completely forgotten about Jose's presence in the room.

"Uh, I can actually go if you want?" Jose speaks up, sounding hesitant. "We can always do more of this later at school, huh, Ana?"

"I open my mouth, about to answer, but Christian beats me to it. "Yes, I think that would be a very good idea, Jose."

I'm stunned, stunned by his behavior and the way he says it. He doesn't bother hiding the unhappiness in his tone, his disapproval for Jose being here. Wow, he isn't very happy at all. And if I'm not mistaken, I think he's feeling a little threatened. Christian sinks into the empty kitchen chair I'd pulled out for him, and he lays the bouquet of gorgeous flowers on the table. Good, well. At least he's staying for a while then. That's one thing settled for now.

Forcing my eyes from him, I smile over at Jose ruefully. "Sorry, Jose," I murmur, helping him gather all his work quickly. "We can do this at school tomorrow during break, if you want?"

"Ah, thanks, that's cool." Grabbing his heavy textbook, Jose hurries towards the front door and I follow after him, being polite, showing him out. He pauses by the door frame, turning around to smile at me apprehensively. "I think I understand most of it now."

"OK, cool," I breathe. "See you tomorrow then."

"Bye."

As he leaves, I yank the front door closed securely, then take a moment to breathe in deeply, recover. Christian coming here, it's so unexpected. Yet, here he is. And talk about horrible timing too; Turning up on the one night Jose was over, while I helped him with his assignment. And not to mention, him attempting to lay the moves on me. I cringe at the memory.

Now to face the waiting beast...

Clasping my hands together, I straighten my shoulders before forcing myself to head back into the kitchen alone with him, facing him head on. Christian still sits there silently where I left him, bouquet on the table. The instance I enter, he turns his head to gaze up at me while leaning back in the chair, stretching his arm along the empty one beside him. Oh gee. What is he doing here?

""So, how about that cup of coffee then?" I manage breathlessly, unsure of what else to really say. My voice comes out weirdly small and guilty, as if I have something to be ashamed of.

It's like I'm a kid and he's caught me doing something naughty, and now he's here to punish me. But why should I feel that way? What have I even done wrong? I cannot help that Jose apparently wanted to make the moves on me, I can't control his actions.

The way he stares at me without answering my question, the way he runs his tongue along the side of his cheek inside of his mouth while looking right at me, his eyes narrowing... It makes me feel oddly small and like I should be shouting apologies to him left, right and center. He hasn't made me feel this way before; Like he's truly a parent, and I've done something bad. Usually, when we're together, I feel equal, like I'm his equal and that we're on an even keel. Now, it's a little hard to feel that way.

"Um, you didn't tell me you were planning to come around?" I whisper out, changing tactic seeing as he ignored me with my coffee-offering.

"I didn't," he says simply, shortly. "I didn't tell Katherine either."

"Well, maybe you should have so that she would have known to be here earlier so that you could see her?"

"Perhaps I wanted it to be a surprise?"

""Well, you've succeeded." Maybe I'm doing it to make myself feel better, but I try to lighten the situation, "You definitely surprised me."

I dart a look at his face again, then have to avert my eyes. Usually he isn't so cold. Usually, he's so open and welcoming and inviting, and he smiles. But now... now, he's the complete opposite of that. He's cold and closed off, and I'm not entirely sure why. And it's honestly a little hard to handle.

""You brought flowers," I mutter beneath my breath, just to break the weird tension there. I step forward, reaching down for them. I bring the bouquet up to my nose, inhaling in the fresh, beautifully sweet fragrance of the roses. "Mmm. They smell beautiful." I steal another glance at his face, finding him watching me attentively as I breathe them in. Why won't he tell me what he's feeling? Why is he punishing me with his silence and closed-off demeanor?

"Yes. I remembered you saying that roses were your favorite type of thing to smell. Those, and Chinese food." That frosty, cold demeanor defrosts a little with the comment.

My heart swells that he bothered to remember that. How sweet. And to go out of his way to get them... "You have really good memory," I murmur, sniffing them again.

"He nods once. "They're for both you and Katherine. I couldn't exclude Katherine, obviously."

""Of course, thank you." I move around the kitchen to hunt for something resembling a vase. A long old glass bottle is the closest I can find. "Should I wait until Kate gets here to open and read the card?"

"If you like."

Awkward. I remove the flowers carefully from the cellophane, placing them into the vase. His aloofness, it's so stressful./p

"How are you?" I ask, desperate to make him loosen up. After filling the glass up with enough water, I turn to place it carefully on the table while laying the unopened card down next to it.

"I've been fine, thank you." There it is again. He's being so short with me, so cold. It's aggravating.

"And how has work been?" I try again while neatening up the table around him. I close the vacant chair that Jose was previously sitting in, then grab our old- and hardly finished- mugs of coffee, pouring them out into the sink.

"Fine."

Oh, really? So this is how it's going to be now, is it?

Biting down on my bottom lip and suppressing my impulse to sigh loudly in annoyance, I move around the table, nabbing the chair next to him that his arm is still resting around. I stiffen when, very deliberately, he drops his arm and moves it away from the back of the chair. "What? So he doesn't want to touch me now? He doesn't even want his arm merely hanging around the back of the chair I'm sitting in?

"What's up with you?" I finally bring myself to ask, although I manage to sound casual about it.

"Christian turns his head to look me straight-on in the eye. Considering how much in a mood he obviously is right now, it's a little disturbing. Plus maybe I shouldn't have sat in the chair right next to him, because that look, it's piercing. He shrugs once, eyes on nothing else but mine, "Nothing."

""Sure." I snort out loud, unable to help myself. "Says the man that is suddenly uncharacteristically speaking in monosyllables." Just to see what he'll do, and maybe, hoping to get a reaction out of him, I lean over while stretching my arm that's closest to him.

All he does is keep his eyes on mine, blinking slowly, as I put our faces closer while trying to reach around him fully. It's a bit awkward and obviously, my arms aren't as long as his is, but I manage to place it over the back of the kitchen chair, doing what he did earlier before I sat down there. The length of his upper back presses into it.

"What?" I tease him, eyeing him carefully, waiting for it. "No moving now that my arm is around you?"

He doesn't take the bait like I was hoping. He doesn't smile or laugh. No spine-tingling chuckle is earned. He simply stares at me, not doing or saying anything. I wish he was back again- that other man that I've gotten used to. I'm not totally sure how to deal with this one, but it's obvious I've done something wrong to make him mad with me- even if he dares to deny anything is up.

"You are mad at me, aren't you?" I whisper knowingly, trying to hold his gaze. It feels like some weird staring contest. Or maybe it isn't, but I'm just doing it on purpose to try to get a rise out of him. "I could tell something was up the second you made yourself known in the apartment?"

I know that's it. I know it.

"You haven't smiled or laughed yet. And you feel really cold too." Mockingly, I reach up with my hand, placing it against his forehead, feeling his warm skin. I hear him swallow audibly at my touch, his grey eyes fluttering closed momentarily. As I move my hand back and away from him, he reopens them slowly, focusing on me again with his unusual, no-nonsense stare. "But not cold temperature wise?"

His eyes soften a little, and the corners of his mouth twitch.

"I don't like it," he mutters at last.

And yes! Finally! Finally I'm breaking through him due to my silly antics!

"Like it? Like what? What's 'it'?"

"I think you know what. The way I felt just then the instance I walked into the room and found you two."

I open my mouth, about to ask for more of an explanation. Only the front door opens, and it's too late. The chance is over. Kate's home.

She's surprised to see her father here- clearly just as surprised as I am. Just like that, in front of his daughter, Christian becomes his usual warm self, rising to his feet to give Kate a hug and a smile. It's only when they've sat back down at the table that he explains why he's here for her.

"I hadn't seen the apartment for you girls yet, so I thought I might surprise you."

"Well, yeah, you've definitely surprised me, Dad. Um, speaking of surprises... have you, ah, heard yet?"

I glance between them, noticing Kate's entire demeanor change. She looks suddenly nervous, like she's fearful of upsetting or offended him.

"Actually, honey, I have. She asked me to call her last weekend to give the news."

"The news?"

It's only a moment later Christian fills me in and I properly understand then. "Katherine's mother wanted me to call her. Apparently her new partner proposed."

"Yeah, that's why I was so late tonight. I had dinner with Shane and her. Apparently he proposed to her in New Zealand and he wants me to be Mom's bridesmaid."

I wonder how Christian feels about it, but right now, with his daughter in the room, he doesn't give much away. Considering how he told me once that he would never remarry, isn't the news that his ex his supposedly remarrying to her new partner Shane, as good old Frank puts it in one of his songs, a kick in the head?


	27. Chapter 27

**IN TOO DEEP**

 **CHAPTER 27**

It's pretty hard to ascertain how Christian feels regarding his ex wife having plans to remarry her new partner. I'm dying to ask for more information, to ask especially how he feels on the matter and whether he's OK or not, only with Kate in the room, it's a little hard to. If I just come out and ask such personal questions in front of her, she's bound to know something is up after all. So all I can simply do is sit there, still where I am in the chair next to his, while Kate and him talk about fairly insignificant things that have nothing to do with anything of what I'm wondering about.

It's not easy, pretending everything is normal and that I don't know him on a way more intimate level than just as Kate's father. Throughout their conversation, my brain drifts off a little, conjuring up what happened last weekend at the hotel and, hopefully, what will be happening again this upcoming week at the hotel when we meet again on Friday.

I remember the last time... How he expressed his enamor in my breasts yet again. I feel a light flush spread across my chest, my face suddenly too hot.

He's sitting so close, yet... at the same time, so far away. His shoulder is inches away from mine, the fabric of his jacket not even touching mine, yet... his closeness is palpable, atmospheric, in the room. In fact, even at this distance with our chairs, I'm fairly certain I can smell him. He moves a hand on top of the table to his mug of coffee as Kate's voice drifts around me; those fingers that are so good at touching me and stroking my skin delicately playing with the handle on the mug.. How he'd run those fingers up and down my back slowly, tracing a pattern with them. Up over the curve of my shoulder blades. How he'd smoothing down the grooves of my collarbone that peek through my skin lightly with the pads of his thumbs.

"So your school work hasn't been too hard, then?" His voice, smooth and concerned, drifts over me.

The way he says my name. His spine-tingling little chuckles. How he calls me Honey.

"Anyway, I got to have a shower before I get to bed." Kate's murmuring. The squeak of the legs of her chair as she suddenly stands from the table.

"I've got an early morning tomorrow, so I can't stay up too late, Dad." Kate moving up behind me, squeezing past my chair.

I cannot wait to be surrounded by his smell again, all that is him and his warmth. _Hopefully on Friday still at the Heathman._

"Thanks for dropping in though. Was a nice surprise. As was the gorgeous flowers too, Dad."

I come back down to my senses just as Christian stands from the chair beside me; I glance up to find Kate hugging him, his arms moving around her to hold her close, hands rubbing below her shoulder consolingly.

"Glad you are doing OK with the news," Kate murmurs softly into his shoulder. "I wasn't sure how to break it to you."

"I'm fine, darling. Don't worry yourself." His voice is barely an audible whisper as he pats her shoulder once, before he pulls back, separating away from her. _But is he fine?_ I can't help wondering apprehensively. _Is he really?_

Realizing suddenly I have a performance to uphold, I stand from my chair briskly, playing Kate's thankful best friend, outstretching my arms to him.

"Good to see you, Mr Grey," I manage, although it's overwhelmingly hard when he moves in himself to return the hug, his arms coming around me.

With my arms around him, my hands resting on his shoulders, I feel the delicious taunt muscles of his shoulders, how protected and warm it feels to be wrapped around him- like it always does. I feel one of his hands run down my back slowly through my shirt lazily as I spot Kate behind his shoulder. She's facing the sink, tipping out the mug her father previously used for his coffee and rinsing it under the tap. As if knowing this himself, Christian's hand goes lower and, in a daring move that sends my heart somersaulting, he drops his hand enough to cup my backside once in a firm squeeze.

I can barely suppress the shocked gasp that escapes my mouth. But then, just like that, it's over with and Christian clears his throat hoarsely before releasing me and stepping a few paces back from me, putting distance between us.

I can't help wondering what Kate sees in my expression as she turns from the sink to us. Can she see how flustered I am by her father? Am I being obvious?

"Well, it was good to see you girls and see how things are coming along with the apartment." When I look at Christian's face, I can only feel envious at how good he is; He's evidently pretty good at keeping what he's feeling under wraps really well, because he gives no sign or indication of just what went on with his hand cupping a cheeky feel of my ass cheeks barely five seconds ago while his daughter wasn't looking in our direction. "I've got a busy week, Katherine, with a meeting in Florida this weekend so I'm not sure when I'll be able to see you next."

My belly muscles flop at the casual comment he's bringing up about a supposed meeting in Florida this weekend _. Shit, does that mean meeting Friday at the Heathman is off after all?_

"That's cool, Dad," Kate mutters reassuringly but no, it isn't cool, not for me. I need to see him. Doesn't he know that? "I'm gonna go take a shower, but call me again when you're free. I need to-" Kate rails off, distracted by everything she apparently has to do tomorrow, while, as for me, I feel myself on a silent verge of a panic attack as I stare at her father's face, trying to decipher it. This weekend is still on for us, isn't it?

Only it's hard. He doesn't bother sending a single look my way as he shows himself out of our apartment, a hand coming up to trail through his hair slowly. He disappears as I hear the front door open. As I see Kate out of the corner of my eye vanishing into her room and returning out into the hallway with a fresh pair of pajamas for her shower, I'm torn and split with indecision.

On one hand, I want to immediately rush after him to get the chance to clarify that this weekend is hopefully still on. Yet, at the same time, it would only be obvious with Kate noticing me rushing after him.

I bite my lip, my heart pounding as I hear the front door shut gently behind him. At the same time, Kate yells, "Won't be long, Ana" in the direction of our shared bathroom while she snaps the door shut.

The instance the bathroom door shuts and the loud buzzing noise of the fan inside the bathroom flicks on, my mind is made up.

Something like adrenaline darts through me as I dash towards the door of the apartment where Christian just exited. Trying to be as quiet as possible so Kate doesn't hear me, I open it slowly, peeking out into the hallway. And damn it, I'm too late. He's already gone. But I figure, knowing Kate and how long she loves to spend in the shower, I assume I have enough time to track him down.

Shutting the door carefully behind me, I set off, hastily walking down the hallway and towards the elevator. I press the button, biting my bottom lip anxiously. Hopefully I can catch up to him before it's too late. Hopefully he isn't already gone.

As the elevator at last dings and opens on my floor, I notice it's completely empty. I might be able to make it out in time enough to catch him.

Jiggling my knees a little in impatience as I wait for the elevator to descend down to ground floor, I can only hope he hasn't left in his car yet. As at last the doors open on ground floor, I dart out, walking briskly to the outside of the building. I glance across the street and... there, there his car is. I can only just see the outline of Christian's head through the tinted windows.

Before he can manage to get away, I check the coast is clear before working up into a light brisk job across the street to where his car is parked. I'm panting heavily by the time I open the passenger's side door and shove myself inside his car into the clean, spotless leather seat. I'm still breathing heavily by the time I slam the door securely shut, turning my eyes on the man with both hands braced on the steeling wheel loosely. I definitely need to work on my cardio.

"Jesus." I'm rewarded with that spine-tingling chuckle and a smile as he glances over at me, grey eyes wide in alarm, mouth hanging slightly open. "Ana, you just scared the fuck out of me."

"Sorry," I mutter, a very cathartic laugh escaping as my breaths seem to calm down seconds later. "I just had to see you before you left."

"What are you doing out here? If Katherine-"

"-Kate's currently in the shower and, knowing how long she takes, I'd say we have roughly around eight minutes to ourselves. So I think we're safe for a few minutes."

I think both of us sag in the chairs simultaneously in relief at that. Christian definitely seems reassured and convinced enough because, a second later, he reaches over in his chair with his hands. Despite how limited space there is in his car for movement, he manages quite well.

He weaves a hand through the back of my hair, pulling my face closer even although I'm still trying to catch my breath. I inhale in deeply through my nose as I bring myself forward over the console and he kisses me at last- a very welcome, very pleasant kiss, now that we're alone, his daughter upstairs in the campus apartment, a few meters away and blissfully unaware while I'm down here in the street in her father's car.

I hadn't exactly ran down and followed him out on the street into his car just so that he could kiss me, but I'll happily take whatever he's willing to give. Took him long enough to do it though, considering we _did_ have a few moments by ourselves in apartment after all after Jose left.

I reach up, clasping his face, tracing around his jaw with my fingers as I return his kiss, my lips moving against his. But then with a groan, low and deep from in his throat, he leans back. As he pulls back slightly, our lips part, our eyes reopening to blink slowly at each other.

"This Friday, still?" I manage with a steadying breath, before I forget what the reason was that I practically followed him out onto the street in the first place. "Or do you really actually have to go to Florida this weekend, like you told Kate that you did?" I wonder if he hears the disappointment in my voice, the sadness in it.

"No." His voice is barely above a whisper as he shakes his head once; his grey eyes slowly roaming down my face, something shining in them. "I didn't really have to do anything this weekend in Florida." He rubs his thumb back and forth over my lips a few times, tickling them as something similar to mirth flashes in his eyes. "I just told her that as an excuse." He sounds as though he's trying his hardest not to laugh.

Unfortunately I'm a little less successful. A gush of a relieved giggle escapes me. "Oh, good then." It's hard to talk with the way his thumb is stroking my lips, but I manage. Even if it makes what he is doing tickle even more. "So _still_ this Friday?"

Finally dragging his thumb beneath my chin, he leans across towards me again. He holds his mouth inches from mine just as he whispers "Still this Friday, I wouldn't miss it for the world" in confirmation breathlessly before he bends down, his lips pressing into mine again one last, final time.

 _He wouldn't miss it for the world? Well, ditto._

...

"This is nice," I murmur appreciatively as I sink down into the sudsy-jasmine smelling water as we take advantage of the large egg-shaped bath at the Heathman Hotel after meeting that Friday in the foyer.

We'd barely gotten settled into the room when I'd decided I wouldn't mind soaking in a nice warm bath. And apparently, Christian had the same idea in mind as I did...

"It's good then?" he murmurs, checking by plunging a sleeve-rolled up arm in to check the temperature near my legs. "Warm enough?"

"Mm-hmm," I murmur, leaning my head back against the hard porcelain with a sigh. "It's perfect."

He stands over the bathtub, switching the running faucet off once it's full enough, still dressed in the white business dress shirt and trousers I met him in, but his shoes and socks off.

I'd been waiting for this eagerly all week and, finally, it's here... Pity it couldn't have come sooner.

Christian stares at me for a moment as I reopen my eyes to look up at him, the bathroom a little steamy from the glorious heat in the bathtub. It's funny; I never imagined I'd ever be doing this. Being completely naked, in a bathtub near someone else. And yet, I've noticed as it always is with Christian, I feel utterly relaxed and at ease. I do wish he'd stop staring though.

"Are you coming in?"

 _And that's all I really need to say._

Christian reaches down in front of him, plucking open the button and yanking down the zipper on his trousers. He discards them quickly along with his briefs, and makes a start on unbuttoning his business shirt. As he turns a little to reach down, grabbing his trousers to fold them neatly off the floor, I get a delicious side view of that very nearly perfect, unmarked backside of his. He truly does have a wonderful-looking butt.

I must accidentally make a humming noise in appreciation of the view, because he turns to look down at me while tearing his arms out of his shirt. He arches his eyebrows at me as he stands there, completely naked, something wild in his eyes. "What's that noise for?" he dares to ask, but I think he already knows the answer to that. He's just teasing me.

"I think you already know what that noise was for."

"Do I?" Instinctively, I swoosh my legs to the side as he climbs in with his bare feet. "I'm not so sure I do know what that noise was for, Anastasia?" He sinks down as I make more space for him, and the water rides up and sloshes. "Maybe you'll have to tell me?"

I don't know how he does it, but he manages to make me feel all blushy. "Hmm, I think you're just playing pretend on purpose, Mr Grey. I think you know exactly what that noise was for." I know he knows. He's just trying to make it painful for me. I can tell he is.

The egg-shaped bath turns out the ideal shape for two people. It isn't squishy at all. We manage to lay side by side in the water, Christian's feet nudging the side of my thigh while mine does his.

"Tell me." His eyes flash with mirth and I can tell he's trying his very hardest not to break into a smile. So he is trying to make it painful for me...

"I believe I've already told you how much I liked the sight of your backside, but OK, fine, if you really need for me to say it out loud..." I can barely hold his gaze while saying it. I don't know why admitting it makes me feel so shy, but it does.

He gives me one of his spine-tingling short chuckles as, suddenly, I feel one of his hands under the water stroke around one of my knees. Since it's so sudsy in here and I can't see anything below the water, it startles me.

"Sorry," he murmurs, obviously having noticed the way I'd jolted a little at his unexpected touching. "Didn't mean to scare you, honey."

We fall silent for a few moments, enjoying the heat of the water, the way it soothes muscles and the pleasant jasmine smell that wafts around us. His fingers keep up their stroking beneath the water, circling around my kneecap. It almost tickles.

"So, how are you?" I manage quietly, the one thing I'd been dying to ask him about ever since his unexpected visit to the campus apartment last week.

Christian takes a second to answer. He brings his other hand that isn't stroking my knee from out of the water, and he lifts it up, running his damp sopping wet fingers through his hair. It makes some of his hair lay flat, darker from water. " _How am_ I?" he repeats slowly. "I believe I've already answered that the instance we met downstairs in the foyer, didn't I?"

I realize he's misunderstood me. I wasn't meaning so much how he was in general, but more so... about the other thing. About the news Kate told him last week. About the news of his ex remarrying.

"I mean about with... what happened last week?" I have no idea how to say it. I think I'm almost afraid of upsetting or even offending him.

He blinks at me blankly for a moment, his fingers trailing through his hair again. "With what happened last week?" He sounds confused. "What _did_ happen last week exactly?"

"With... you know." I swallow nervously. How do I know how to even say this the right way? "When you called in to the apartment for a visit? With how Kate said about-" I hesitate, trailing off into an uncertain silence. Surely he hasn't forgotten about it, has he?

But then a fleeting moment later, I think he gets it. Something like recognition flashes in Christian's eyes. "Oh. You mean with the news?"

"Yeah. I wanted to ask you about it, but... with Kate there in the room, it was a little hard properly to?" I try to read his expression carefully, only he isn't giving much away. Strands of his hair stick up unkempt from the way he ran his wet fingers through it, a small bead of water rolling down the side of his temple. It's impossible to know how he feels over me bringing it up. "Are you feeling... OK with the news, I guess?"

Suddenly, he reaches down, grabbing onto my entire foot. He pulls it up a little, propping it up against his knee as his fingers slide down around the arch of my foot. Massaging me. He's massaging my foot now, I realize. While it feels heavenly, I can't help wondering if he's doing it on purpose to distract me. Maybe he hopes he can evade talking about it?

"So that's why she asked you to call her last week?" I prompt when he doesn't say anything. "Because she wanted to ask if you would be OK that she's getting married to her partner?"

"Pretty much, Anastasia, yes," he simply murmurs, his eyes on his hands as they deftly work at kneading my foot pleasantly. It's sort of distracting; Only because it's rather sensual, the way his large hands move, how strong his fingers are.

He really isn't giving much away at all. Christian tilts his head up towards me, his grey eyes shining with something in them as he continues massaging my foot. I almost have to squelch my lips together to stop the blissful sigh from escaping me. He's actually really good at giving foot massages.

"Feels good?" he murmurs, something there in his tone that tells me he already knows the answer to that.

"Mm," I admit, a short sigh escaping me as I tilt my head back a little. "It _does_ actually feel really good. But still."

He clearly doesn't want to talk about it yet so I try another tactic of diverting the topic onto something else. I think back to at the apartment, how he'd intruded in on me and Jose while I was attempting to help him study. He also obviously caught Jose attempting to lay the moves on me. I cringe inwardly at the thought. It was rather embarrassing that he had, yet... undeniably, it was interesting, Christian's reaction and moodiness afterwards.

"When you came over that night to see the apartment..." I begin, cringing. "How you came in and saw me helping the guy from school Jose with an assignment?"

It seems I'm effective at winning his attention, because I notice Christian raise his head to stare intently at me, his eyes narrowing, focused on nothing but me as he resumes doing that heavenly thing with his fingers to my heel and toes.

Apparently I don't need to bother elaborating further to spark his memory of what I'm hinting about; I can see it in the sudden tenseness around his eyes and forehead, in his jaw, "Yes, Ana, I remember that night," he mutters, and there's something weirdly aloof about his tone. "What about it?"

"Well, how much did you catch?" I ask nervously. "I know clearly you helped yourself into the apartment because it was unlocked, but did you, um, happen to-"

"-You mean did I catch the way he was attempting to throw himself at you?" I feel my face flare with heat. _Oh, great. So he did catch that after all._ "And how he was telling you how he thought you were the prettiest, coolest girl?"

 _Damn. It's like a mortifying nightmare._

"I hadn't expected him to do that, just so you know," I get out hastily, suddenly feeling the need to explain. "I had no idea whatsoever that Jose had any sort of feelings for me like that."

His eyebrows arch a little, and his head shakes. It's as if with the silent look alone he's saying, _Oh, really? Are you that blind?_ And maybe I am.

"If I had known his intentions ahead of time, I probably would have never invited him to the apartment to help out," I add quietly, eyeing him seriously. "It was really awkward and embarrassing because... obviously, I don't feel that way about him."

"Ana, you don't have to feel the need to apologize or explain yourself over what happened that night."

"I'm not apologizing," I protest quickly. "I just wanted to make that clear."

"If anything, I ought to be the one explaining myself," he breathes, and fingers slipping over my heel, he lifts it up suddenly out of the water, my foot dripping. "I ought to have known better."

"Known better?" I shake my head, at a loss.

"For how I reacted, especially at my age." Eyes on me and hand still grasping me by the foot, he lifts my foot high enough and leans forward, tilting his head. I can hardly remember how to breathe when he opens his mouth, allowing his teeth to skim and gently bite into my big toe. It feels surprisingly good.

"How... how you reacted?" I can barely even get my voice to sound right; It's too squeaky, too gushy. He does it again once more before letting my foot go, releasing it back into the water. My breath hitches.

He sighs loudly through his nose, a solemn look overcoming him, one that seems almost embarrassed. Or ashamed, even. "I don't know if it occurred to you or not, Anastasia, but... I felt jealous," he breathes out under his breath, his voice barely above an audible sigh.

 _Jealous? He actually felt jealous_? "Really? So that's why you were acting so... different than night? It was because you felt... jealous?" I can hardly believe it, let alone wrap my head around the fact. I feel a curious mixture of both shock and relief that he felt that strongly.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. And OK, I sort of suspected that he possibly may have felt threatened. But to hear him actually confirm it out loud!

"Don't laugh at me," he murmurs, a voice half a growl suddenly full of warning. But it's a playful warning, I think.

"I'm not laughing." Or am I? "But so when you said you didn't like it, how it made you feel-"

"-I was referring to the jealousy," he confirms, with a brisk nod.

 _But wow, OK. He was jealous._

"I thought I told you not to laugh at me?" That growly voice is back, filled with warning. And then he moves. Fast and sudden.

I cannot help my squeal of shock as suddenly he swishes forward, splashing water over the edges of the tub. Before I know it, he's grabbing me- playfully... teasingly, I think- and he manages to get me with both arms around me, holding me close into his side, pressing my back to his chest as his long legs wrap around mine, holding me confined, pinned to him. Water sloshes and slides everywhere, he makes a noise that resembles a growling lion from the very base of his throat, and I can't seem to quit shaking with uncontrollable giggles.

We only settle down once I remain still wrapped tight in his arms, against his chest, his knees bent and feet over mine beneath the water. His face, his nose, it's in my damp hair as he inhales in shakily. I think he's laughing himself.

"If this is the type of punishment I get for sort of laughing at you, then sign me up for it," I mutter, once my breath returns to me and my giggles fade.

"Oh, you," he whispers in my ear in that playful growling voice again, and his nose nudges my earlobe. "But seriously." He inhales in deeply, his lips moving against my ear. I feel myself shudder. "I know I'm old enough to know better, but... still. Old men aren't immune to feelings like jealousy or feeling possessive, try as they might."

The thought of him feeling possessive over me, jealous even, and that he could even begin to feel that way about me... _Is it wrong I find it sexy?_

I come back to that other thing, the one thing he left unanswered before. Somehow, I feel much more confident in broaching the subject now that he can't see my face and I can't see his to read his expression. Somehow, I feel braver now that he's resting the side of his face against mine, while he holds me tight against his chest in the bathtub.

"You know, you didn't answer my question before? About whether you truly are OK or not?"

He's silent for a moment behind me, his nose simply stroking my cheek. Maybe he's even trying to figure out the best way to answer?

But then he says, gravely and without any playfulness whatsoever, "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Do I?"

"Mm," he breathes deeply, and I feel his stubble scrape against my temple as he lays a soft kiss there. "If I wasn't OK, do you honestly think I'd be here right now, doing this, with you?" He kisses me once more on my temple, then he glides his lips... kissing me in other places as well. My cheekbone, the corner of my eye. The side of my mouth. My pulse races. "She's moved on to start another part of her life and... I've moved on, too."

"With me?" I'm all breathless and out of control.

"With you," he confirms softly. He reaches over me with his left hand, catching my chin in his hand. He moves my head a little, turning it with just enough force as he leans back in the water so that he can meet my eyes. The look in his expression, the shining emotion in his eyes, it takes my breath away. "I love you."

My breath stops. Hell, I think my entire world even stops. _Did I just hear what I thought he said?_

Eyes still holding mine, fingers still gripping my chin gently, Christian nods once at me. "I've known it for a while now, I just... wasn't sure whether to tell you or not. But I know it."

I try to twist slightly in his arms, and he lets me, loosening his hold around me a little. I turn so that I can face him properly in the water, billions of emotions surfacing through me at his words. "You-"

"-I do," he admits, and he slowly reaches up to stroke what is probably one of my very red cheeks with the back of his knuckles. "That's why I can tell you that I'm OK, that I don't care whether she moves on with her new partner or not, whether she marries him. For a while there, before this started with you, I wasn't sure I was going to be... OK ever again."

The realization hits me thick and profoundly. _He's truly going to be OK. He actually loves me._

My response is easy as breathing, something natural, "Well, damn. It's funny because I... I love you too."

"Which makes it a little... fucked, because _I am_ your best friends father," he whispers, but in a sardonic way, to lighten the mood, I think, to inspire a little irony. "I never once thought this would be happening, with my daughter's friend of all people, yet... here we are."

"Ditto, here we are," I murmur back breathlessly.

Now we just have to figure out where we go from here and, what's more, what happens with his daughter and my best friend.

HEY ALL,

SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE AGAIN. I'M HAVING TROUBLES WITH THE TENDON IN MY FINGER AGAIN SO ITS TAKING A WHILE FOR IT TO MEND SO I CAN WRITE BETTER. HOPE YOU WILL ALL FORGIVE ME AND THAT A DECLARATION OF LOVE SOMEWHAT MAKES UP FOR IT ;) SORRY ABOUT REPOST OF CHAPTER LOL


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER 28**

It's funny, because after sharing those three little but significant words, the atmosphere seems to change around us. Somehow, it becomes lighter, more relaxed; like an invisible load was taken off each of us after having confessed those three meaningful words.

Maybe he'd been waiting a long time to say it, but he'd been holding himself back. Due to what? Maybe fear I'd never feel the same way? That maybe, me being younger than him, I'd be frightened off such an intense declaration? If anything, it makes me feel overwhelmed with joy. Joy and happiness. And I think maybe, although his way of showing it may be different, Christian feels exactly the same way too.

We spend an endless amount of time together, just lying in the bathtub; Christian's arms around my breasts, my back leaning into his bare chest, his knees bent, larger feet over mine in the water. It's heavenly. Not just the mildly warm temperature of the water, but... him. Lying, relaxing in his arms, it's heavenly. His chin rests on one of my shoulders, his warm steady breaths tickling my ear.

After a while, he must get restless with just sitting there, holding me. He unwraps one arm around me, reaching for the complimentary bottle of body wash they have given us for staying in the hotel room. He uncaps it, then squirts a decent amount in a hand. Then he rubs both hands together, and I become fixated on the pair of them, the strength in them, their masculinity. Like everything seemingly about him, I find his hands sexy. Even just watching them now... as he lathers up the body wash in between them. He plops the opened bottle back on its small shelf above the bath, and then, without even warning me, he's touching me, washing me.

He reaches up, closing his hands over my forearms, then slowly glides them down, soaping me up all over. Then he brings them up to my shoulder blades and starts squeezing, massaging them. He's really lucky I don't end up smacking into his nose with my head as it lolls back uncontrollably in pleasure. Who knew a massage could feel this good?

"Feels nice," I murmur breathlessly.

Christian's mouth moves closer to my ear. "Yeah?"

"Mm." But because I don't want to be greedy and make him miss out, I reach over myself, grabbing the bottle, squirting some of the body wash messily into my hand. I realize my hands are shaking as he keeps rubbing around my shoulders, squeezing with his fingertips, applying pressure in a really nice way. His mouth is still inches from my ear as I blindly reach down, my soapy hands finding both of his kneecaps that are out of the water, around me. I start moving my fingers down a little towards his muscular thighs, soaping him up. It's then I notice it. His breathing has changed, as he rests it inches from my ear. And so has mine.

He presses one quick, warm, open-mouthed kiss over the shell of my ear, his breathing ragged, hands still stroking and massaging around my shoulders while I stroke his thighs, and then... I feel him, pressing up against my backside, that organ, that erection. He's aroused by it. And, belatedly, I realize that I am too.

I don't know what makes me so bold, so unhesitating even, but I pretty much do it without thought, on impulse.

Slithering forward a little in the water, I reach around behind me towards him with my hand, submerging it under the water behind my back. It isn't too hard to find him, and when I do, clasping my hand over the length of it carefully, gently, his hands still from their glorious movement over my shoulder blades.

His breath hitches in his throat at the realization of what I'm doing, his chin resting in my hair.

I slide up and down his length slowly, listening to the noises he makes. They're very encouraging. I can tell he's enjoying it. And maybe I am too, weirdly enough?

"Keep going?" I whisper, uncertain, as I trace his length, alternating between tight and gentle grasps with my fingers. "Or... stop?"

"Don't you dare..." Surprising me, he thrusts a little with his hips, pushing himself into my hand under the water; a low, deep sexy groan coming from the base of his throat. His chin is resting beneath my earlobe, scratchy with a light graze of stubble. "Don't stop, Ana, not now." There's a hint of husky desperation in his voice, of sheer need. It makes me feel empowered.

The fact that he's clearly so aroused, that he's enjoying what I'm doing to him... I feel my heart beating in my chest, somewhere down there pulsing madly in reaction. His arousal makes me feel aroused in return. The way he flexes and bucks his hips, his hisses and little grunts... it's such a turn on within itself.

"Christ, honey," he groans, and I get a surprise of my own when suddenly he opens his mouth, catching the fleshy part of my earlobe in it, sucking hard,grazing it with his teeth. His mouth is so delicious warm, his tongue pulsing against my lobe. "I'm going to come..." he breathes gently in warning, and then he must do barely a second later, like he said.

He thrusts one last time into my palm, cries out with a throaty groan, and stiffens. I don't notice anything, no come. I guess that's what happens when you're in water.

He takes a while to recover, breathing shakily, his muscular arms tightening over me again, holding me close. I pull my hand out from under me, inspecting it curiously. There's no come, it's just completely saturated with water. Hmm.

"You touch me so good," he murmurs after a while, his breathing still loud, but slower. He voice sounds slower, drugged out somehow. Like it's taken all his energy away right now. We spend a few moments in silence, while I try to control my breathing as well. He rests the side of his face against mine. There's still a delicious tingle down below for me. "Are you a witch?" When he asks it, it sounds like something random, something completely accidental.

 _But what? Am I a witch? Meaning what?_

I don't know whether to laugh or not. _Is he teasing?_

"What?" I snort. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm not. Why?"

"Sometimes I think that you are. A witch I mean. You've put a spell on me." His voice is softer. Contemplative, even. He holds me even tighten to him, and I reach down, grasping his arms gently, holding him back.

I have no idea what he means though. _He thinks I've put a spell on him?_

But then he continues a moment later, stroking the tip of his nose against my cheek, "You've completely and utterly... bewitched me."

I feel my pulse scatter, my cheeks reddening at the sweetness of his comment. _Yet I have my doubts, too. How could I possibly have bewitched him? Put a spell on him? Plain old me? Shouldn't it be the other way around, with him doing that to me?_

He must be able to notice, even with just the side of my face, the fact that I'm beaming and am practically gushing over his words. I can hardly stop myself from grinning broadly. "With that big beautiful smile of yours." He runs his hands down my arms, until he meets my hands. He grasps onto them gently in his. "And... with your little, soft hands."

"I think that should really be the other way around," I manage, giddily.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because I'm pretty sure that _you_ are the one that put the spell on me. Ever since the first day I was introduced to you."

...

As the bath water begins to cool dramatically, we decide we've had enough. I'm graced with the sight of him, full-blown naked, as he steps out of the bathtub, dripping wet. He grabs a white towel for me, helping to cover and dry me up as I climb out. He doesn't even bother about himself, even although he appears a little shivery; He focuses on reaches down, helping dry my feet and legs.

I think that's just him though, and it's nice. I think it makes me love him even more.

He puts me first, my comfort, my warmth, before his own. And it makes my heart burst with an aching, painful tenderness as he gets down on his knees, patting my thighs dry with another fluffy towel. His hair is still damp, dark, dripping wet, with beads of water rolling down his forehead, his cheeks. He even looks like he's got faint goose pimples on his arms. Yet he doesn't care at all. It's only me, and its heart warming.

He's taking his time, rubbing my knees down, when I reach down awkwardly, gripping my hands on either side of his wet face, pulling his eyes upward to meet mine. They shine back at me, slightly confused. I bend down, pressing my mouth to his, and just like that, I think he knows not to bother with me anymore. He gets to his knees, and stands, a little unsteadily while still not breaking the kiss. Our lips move, and as I open my mouth slightly, he takes advantage, slipping his tongue into mine as I lose grip of the towel over my shoulders. It falls below us at our feet and yet I can hardly bring myself to care. There's just him... us, this moment.

And then without warning him, I pull away, and move out of the bathroom, ignoring the clothes and towels on the floor. And then, I'm not exactly sure how it happens, but it does. Suddenly, Christian and I are playing this weird game of dashing naked towards the bedroom, only I'm feeling mischievous and cheeky, running away from him, trying to dodge out of his arms as he tries to catch me.

I reach the bed before he does, and I dive onto it headfirst, hardly able to control my laughter. His breathing alerts me that he's reached the room a second later; He sounds ragged, out of breath. As I turn to look over at him, I see he's taking a moment, bracing his hands on this muscular thighs, head down a little. He's winded.

"Poor old guy," I tease, and he finally lifts his head to look at me, a mischievous half-smile there on his face, mirth glinting in his eyes. "You look exhausted. Maybe I shouldn't have expected you to chase me in here after all?" I giggle to show I'm just teasing and, to my relief, it doesn't appear that I've offended him at all. If anything, he seems amused.

" _Poor old guy_ , huh?" he breathes, in a strained rush of air. He breathes in deeply a few times through his nose, catching his breath. Then he straightens up to his full height, staring at me, that mirth in his eyes turning into something else, something... I don't think I've actually seen in him before, as his eyes flicker down my exposed bare back, my buttocks that are probably facing him with the way that I'm carelessly laying. It's playful and teasing, yes, but... a little foreboding too. "Poor _old_ guy?" he repeats again, an edge there, as he steps forward to the bed a few inches.

I'm the one left breathless and shocked next, with what he does.

With that glint there in his eyes, he moves suddenly, catching me unprepared. He crawls onto the bed swiftly with both knees coming around my legs and then...

He brings up a hand and brings it down over my bare buttocks with a resounding slap. It effectively wipes whatever cheeky grin I had on my face. It doesn't hurt, really- it's more so the unexpectedness of it that startles me. My mouth plops open in sheer astonishment as I stare at him where he is, knees on the bed around me, completely naked, hand that he just slapped my butt with raised midway in the air. His breathing goes shallow, his eyes alert and watching me warily. Like he's worried over my reaction, yet he's obviously... aroused as well.

"Did you just, um... spank me?" I manage in a bewildered voice, my eyes wide. "Really?"

"Is that OK?" His expression turns almost apprehensive. "I... I don't know why I... I just did that." He grimaces, breathing heavily.

What surprises me is how I feel over it. After the initial shock, I begin to feel a little sensation of where he spanked me heating up, thrumming with heat. And it actually doesn't feel too bad after all. That same sensation I felt in the bathtub, that tingling, that throbbing... it returns with a vengeance. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.

"Do it again." It tears out of my mouth without thought. Do I actually want him to do it again? Yes, I realize. I never thought it would be something I'd actually like or find arousing or even weirdly sensual, but... yes. It's Christian doing it to me. And it's hot.

"Do- _What_?" His voice is quiet with disbelief.

"Spank me, Mr Grey," I urge, my teasing side returning again. I stretch a little, nudging him playfully with my toes. "Or is the poor old man too exhausted to do it again?" I'm teasing him, goading him on playfully. And Christian realizes that a second later.

His eyebrows arch, his mouth falling open slightly incredulously. "Poor old man, did you say?" He murmurs, his voice going playfully stern. Bending down, he plants a quick kiss over where he hit me on my backside consolingly, before he starts again, being very convincing with his eyes, his expression. He's a very good actor, I realize. "Oh, well. Let me show you what happens when you call me a 'poor old man', shall I?"

He brings his hand up, then smacks again on my ass. Just like before, it's... pleasant. And surprisingly oh so fun.

Roughly around five spanks more and a lot of laughter shared between us, my ass cheeks are stinging slightly. Christian leans down, planting several soft, delicate open-mouthed kisses around the areas of my buttocks that he spanked, as though his way of apologize, or at least his attempt at soothing the redness. Once he seems satisfied, he moves up on the bed to lay down beside me, his breathing just as loud as mine is.

"You OK?" he asks, trailing a hand gingerly down my body and around my bottom. "Did you like that?"

"Mm." It takes me a while to regain use of my voice. "Surprisingly, yes."

"Me, too." His voice sounds relieved. "Just remember what will happen if you call me 'poor old man' again."

"Poor old-" I begin teasingly with a laugh, only he cuts me off, rolling me around towards him, his mouth claiming mine and all of my giggles along with it.

Christian has been responsible for teaching me many things, it occurs to me as I kiss him back hungrily, twining my arms around his neck. Good music taste in Frank Sinatra and other classic musicians. Pleasure and the fun of sex and kissing, especially. And now... just how sensual getting spanked and punished can be. _Who would have thought that?_

 _..._

Sunday comes, like it always does unfortunately, and after a few kisses and hugs, Christian and I have to go our separate way.

I feel like I'm floating on a perfect cloud of well-being and happiness, as always do after a weekend spent with Christian, I find, as I start making the walk back to the campus apartment with my bag. I feel like I'm weirdly floating as I make my way inside, humming absently. I wonder if Kate will be home or if she's out. I wonder if anything else has happened with the guy that she lost her virginity to while I was away for the weekend. Hopefully he didn't hurt her.

As soon as I unlock the door and get safely inside our apartment, I know Kate's here. The TV's on in the living room and I think she's watching some movie.

"Hey girl," I call loudly. "I'm home." I round around the hallway, finding Kate on the couch, still in her pajamas. Sundays are usually a lazy day for Kate.

She mutes the volume on the TV. "Hey," she whispers, and immediately I realize there's something off. Her voice sounds different. Aloof and cold, almost.

"How are you? How was your weekend?"

"Why don't _you_ tell me?"

"What?" I know my voice is weirdly anxious the instance I turn to look at her. "What do you mean? What's wrong with-"

"-I called your mom's house phone because I couldn't reach you and I really needed to chat," she mutters, and my stomach sinks. Oh, shit. No. "Yeah," she mumbles, obviously seeing something like horror on my face. "Imagine how surprised I was when your mom told me that apparently you haven't even been staying at her house on weekends like you said you were." There's a sharp note of accusation in her face that kills me.

I feel all the color drain from my face as she stares at me, her eyes piercing, filled with silent accusations.

"So, _where_ were you, huh?" She sits up on the couch, slapping a hand brusquely against her satin-trouser clad thigh. "Why the need to say you were at your mom's all weekend when, _really_ , you were somewhere else all that time?"

I'm really not ready for this. I just got in the front door. Why does she have to do this right now?

"Well?" she demands, her voice getting a little hysterical. " _Where is it_ that you've _really_ been these past few weekends, huh?" She watches me with glaring eyes carefully, as if trying to read the answer of where I've truly been on my face and body alone. I hope she can't really see or notice, because... I can't tell her. Not yet. We're not ready yet.

"Kate," I begin weakly with a sad sigh, letting the strap of my bag fall off my shoulder carelessly.

"No, _don't_ , Ana!" she snaps, suddenly getting to her feet. " _Don't do tha_ t, not again!"

"Do what-"

"-Keep another goddamn thing from me!" She steps tentatively towards where I'm standing, her eyes pleading, begging. "You said that we're still best friends but... best friends don't lie or keep things away from each other?"

The look in her eyes, the desperation... It's too much. This whole entire thing hurts too much. I need it to end.

"Kate, please," I manage, hastily moving away from her towards my bedroom. Somehow not having to meet her eyes, not having to look at her while she fires all her difficult questions at me, it's makes avoiding her that much easier.

I get into my bedroom and shut the door quickly, not even sure she's following me. As I dump my bag on the bed, I hear her outside through the wood as I cover my hands over my face, my fingers trembling.

"You know what, Ana? I feel like _I don't even fucking know_ you anymore! First not telling me that you'd already lost your virginity to some guy and now- now this?" Her voice is shaky and high-pitched, with a mingled mix of hurt and anger. "What changed between us now that you feel like you can't even fucking talk to me anymore or tell me the truth about anything anymore, huh?"

I'm losing her. I really know I am.

"Fine, then! Don't answer and just hide away in there!" she bursts out. "But I meant what I said! I _really feel_ like I don't know you anymore!"

 _And maybe she's right? Then again, maybe she never even truly knew me at all?_

 ** _THANKS FOR ALL YOUR LOVELY SUPPORT AND NICENESS, I REALLY APPRECIATE IT! NOT TOO SURE ABOUT THIS CHAPTER AND THE WHOLE SPANKING SCENE, BUT HOPE IT WASN'T TOO BAD. POOR ANA WITH KATE GETTING SUSPICIOUS! WOULD LOVE TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS? THANK YOU!_**

 ** _AND MERRY CHRISTMAS IF I DON'T GET AROUND TO UPDATING BEFORE THEN XX_**


	29. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER 29**

 **IN TOO DEEP**

After the argument with Kate the instance I got in from the weekend spent at the Heathman with her father, I become like a chicken. I remain hiding away, in my bedroom, curled up on my bed, too apprehensive to even risk the chance to head out of the room to the bathroom or to even make myself a cup of tea no less. I am such a coward. _Have I always been such a coward, shying away from any form of confrontation? Probably._ This just feels the most easiest option to deal with right now.

Avoidance. Avoidance is so much easier than having to risk her tornado of unpleasant questions.

I just really hadn't wished she'd done this. Why tonight, of all times, the instance I come home? Why did Kate have to think of calling my mother, to ask whether I truly was there with her during the weekend like I'd lied and said I was? Why wouldn't she have just kept out of it and made this all so much easier?

With a heavy heart, I collapse down onto my bed, my mind running frantically. This is probably the hardest situation I have ever been in, in my entire life. I don't know what to do. _God, what do I do? What is the right thing to do in this situation?_

On one hand, I know the right thing to do, the...honorable thing to do, would be telling my friend the truth. I've been spending the weekends with her father, and I'm in love with him. I want to be with him. Yet... what about her reaction?

What if she flips out, calls out my betrayal? What if she ends our friendship? Hell, what if she disowns her own father and decides she doesn't want to speak to Christian anymore?

All the years we've spent together... all that time. Kate had literally been the first person to befriend me at such a young age. My first best friend, the first person I'd truly felt comfortable with. All those hours of laughter, of gossiping. Watching TV together, movies... Painting our nails. Supporting each other when the other was down.

Kate and I getting our ears pierced together at age thirteen, supporting each other and egging each other on. Kate being the one to explain it to me, rather than my own mother, on the instructions with how to put a pad on when I'd first gotten my period. All these things- all these monumental firsts in my life, and they were shared with Kate at my side. _And now I've gone and done this to her?_

I sink down onto the top sheet of my bed, rolling onto my stomach, cupping my face in my hands, letting my hair spill out over it as I heave out deeply through my mouth and nose a few times.

I know she would never forgive me if she knew the truth, about where I've truly been on weekends and about how I first lost my virginity to. Who I've been intimate with ever since that first time, kissing... being playful, meeting secretly. Letting him spank me, wash me in the bathtub. Kiss me. Touch me. Fuck me, make love to me.

I love her father, and I know I make him happy. He's told me as much, that he loves me as well. Could she possibly look past all the hurt an d betrayal, if she saw how happy I make her father? Or would Kate still hold it personal, all the resentment and anger at my lies?

Somehow, knowing her through all these years, I think I'd know how she'd react pretty well. And unfortunately it'd be the latter reaction of the two. It wouldn't matter that I seem to make her father happy, and that I'm happy with him in return. That we love each other, that I want to be with him, and that really I can't see myself ever being with anyone else. I'd love to have a long, serious future with him- if he even sees it that way with me himself.

But none of that would matter to Kate at all, because... at the end of the day, I know exactly the type of girl she is; The one who shouts, the one who holds grudges. Our friendship would be done and... potentially, so would her relationship with her dad.

 _God, why did I let myself get into this impossible situation? Why?_

After what feels hours of soul searching, I come up with the one painful but only reasonable thing I can do. It'll hurt, and even the mere thought of it, it makes me want to throw up and cry hysterically, but... it's the only possible thing I can do. The one thing that can ease all the guilt, all the confusion. The one thing to give me a good chance at repairing whatever little trust Kate has left with me right now, all due to my found-out lies and secrecy.

I grab my phone, flicking the screen on. Then I find Christian's number, and write a new text message:

 _Hi, we urgently need to talk. Can we meet again soon?_

 _\- Ana XX_

The urge to throw up only serves to grow stronger when he replies around a few minutes later:

 _Of course, only it can't be until Friday like usual. Meet at the Heathman, 5.30, Friday?  
_

It'll have to do, I suppose. I'll just have to wait a whole week until Friday comes. The thought of saying what I need to hurts even more than I can possibly stand but... it's the only way.

It's the only way, the only solution. Or so I keep repeating to myself.

...

A thousand butterflies are already fluttering erratically inside me that Friday evening, as I manage to escape the apartment and make my way towards our usual meeting place, in the foyer of the Heathman. Kate had been at me again, demanding to know where it was I was really going. All I could do was escape the apartment without answering hastily like a chicken.

But, if anything, it's just solidified my resolve for what I know needs to be done tonight... if I can manage. Or tomorrow. Or probably on a more peaceful, relaxed Sunday after having spent a few evenings together, making up for lost time.

My bag with all my two nights worth of fresh clothes swings around my hip as I walk down the street, those butterflies relentless in my stomach. I know this is going to be painful. Probably the most painful thing on earth even, but... what else can I do when there's simply no other choice but this?

The doorman at the Heathman opens it for me, and the instant I step inside and look around, immediately, I spot him. My heart bursts with a weird combination of relief, tenderness, and heartache as I discover Christian where he usually is, waiting for me, standing near the counter. One hand is shoved deeply into his suit trouser pocket, the other clutching onto his own overnight bag of belongings.

He's wearing one of his white dress shirts and grey suit trousers, his free hand running through his hair anxiously as he waits. I wish he didn't always look so effortlessly good. It makes it all the more harder when knowing what I intend to do. He turns and sees me, gray eyes scanning the crowd eagerly, and then... there. He spots me, and he stares, and it's like just with one look alone at me, and his entire demeanor is changing completely.

He'd looked slightly anxious before. Even perhaps a little worried I might have blown him off meeting him. Yet now, having spotted me, I see that tension there fade slightly as a slow smile comes across his face. He brings his hand out of his trouser pocket, holding it out towards me, beckoning me forward, so welcoming, so... obviously pleased to see me again, to be reunited. And oh Jesus, it really hurts like hell.

I go straight towards him without hesitation, pushing through a crowd of people waiting to book into the hotel, and I reach up, accepting his hand, grasping onto it tightly.

Those butterflies seem to have multiplied in my stomach as he tugs me with him towards the elevator to go up to our already booked room, his eyes roaming down the shirt and pair of jeans I'm wearing, devouring me, remembering me. My skin tingles beneath his look.

"You look good," he murmurs as we wait, giving my hand a light squeeze. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I reply back, although I feel a little lump in my throat. "How are you?"

"Definitely better now that you came."

"Well, its like you said in your car that time," I whisper, trying to lighten the mood, make a joke out of my feelings, "I wouldn't miss this for the world either."

To my relief, the elevator door opens and we enter, standing close by the wall as another two people enter along with us. His hand is still clinging onto mine. I try to tell myself that, no matter what, I will never forget it, how it feels to be holding hands with him, with how strong and masculine his grip is, the feeling of his hand on mine...

As the elevator doors close on us, there's a silence apart from the two people in front of us who are chattering to each other happily. I turn to glance over up at him, to find he's staring at me, some unidentifiable emotion there in his eyes.

 _And then I just can't take it any longer._..

Losing my composure and hardly caring about the two people in the elevator with us, I stride purposefully closer to him, closing the distance between us even more, making Christian step back a little into the wall behind him. I reach up with an arm, curling it tightly around his neck, holding myself to him while reaching up, cupping the nape of his neck, twisting the small hairs there with my fingers as I lean in. Christian's arm goes around my back, holding me into him, hard and tight, and I press the side of my face into his shirt, hugging him, losing myself in the warmth of his skin that seeps through the fabric of his dress shirt and the way he smells and how he feels holding me.

The elevator stops and dings on the fifth floor. The two people exit, still talking happily, but I ignore them, remaining still where I am, with Christian hugging me tightly, the side of my face resting into his shirt, my fingers playing and tangling with the back of his hair lightly. The doors close a second later, heading up towards our floor- the master suite.

"You OK?" He finally speaks, now that we're officially alone in the elevator, I think. His voice is low and filled with what sounds like concern.

I hope I'm not being too obvious with it, but I nod once against his shirt anyway. "Mm, I'm good," I answer softly. "I just needed this."

Apparently I'm convincing, because he reaches up with his arm and he runs it down my back firmly over my shirt, caressing me, embracing me.

"Had a good week since I last saw you?" he asks, and there's something in his tone. Something knowing, like he can somehow read already that my week has been pretty much anything else but good.

"Not really. It was more of a very long, very tiring week, than a good one."

He hums in response, his head lowering. He rests his chin on the top of my scalp, that glorious smell that uniquely is Christian overwhelming me. "Mine was very much the same, then," he mutters, his breaths tickling the strands of my hair. "Lots of paper work and long hours. I couldn't wait for this time to come, frankly."

"It seems that the time always goes purposefully slow when you are anticipating something."

The spine-tingling short chuckle he gives out warms me. "I know what you mean, Anastasia, honey. It dragged for me too." There he goes again, calling me 'honey'. The elevator finally dings, signalling that we've at last reached the floor. "OK, here we are." Tentatively, I lean back away from him, pulling my hand out from his hair, glancing away.

 _Why does even so much as looking away from him have to be so painful right now?_

I head into the room, and he follows. He strides past me towards the little in-built kitchen and minibar after depositing his overnight bag on the floor, opening the refrigerator. "You want a bit of something to drink?" he calls out me as I fling my own bag next to his.

While I'm still underage, I've had a few small sneaky sips here and there while spending the weekend with him. Christian hadn't seemed to mind, if he did even notice me doing it or not. "Sure, but... only the tiniest bit," I answer back, watching him.

He grabs two tumblers, and plops a small bottle of vodka onto the counter. If there's one thing I've learned well about Christian, it's that sometimes he likes wine, but more often than not, he doesn't mind his alcohol straight, whether it be gin or scotch. Or even vodka. He uncaps the bottle, pouring a decent amount in one of the tumblers, and a smaller amount in the other. The smaller one he hands out to me, and I take it happily.

"So, um... work's been fairly busy then, judging by what you were saying?" I ask quietly, peering into the contents of my glass. The vodka is so clear someone would think it was just plain water.

"Pretty much, yes. It's been a busy week."

I hesitate, before taking a small sip of the vodka. How anyone can drink it straight is a mystery to me. It burns the instance it goes into my mouth, and as I swallow it down, it's so bitter, so disgusting. I cringe, coughing a little at its unpleasant strength. "Ugh. I've definitely decided alcohol isn't for me." As I raise my eyes, meeting Christian's, I can see he's trying not to grin or chuckle out loud at my response. His gray eyes are bright with mirth.

"How are things with Katherine?" he asks, then he brings his own glass up, sipping in a mouthful of the straight vodka. I can't help being impressed when he doesn't grimace or complain over the taste outwardly like I had.

 _But how are things with me and his daughter? God, how can I even begin to answer that?_ I make a noise.

"What?" He asks slowly, obviously having caught onto my dismissal of answering. "Is everything OK between you two?"

"Um, not... really, no." I figure lying won't help anything. "We've been arguing a lot lately." I peer down into my glass again, swallowing thickly. "I think she's actually starting to hate me."

 _No, well, not starting to. I think she already does._

"Starting to hate you?" he repeats, concern etched in his tone. "Why would you think that? Surely not."

"But she is," I insist, confident on it. Swallowing once more thickly, I force myself to look up, into his eyes. His gray eyes stare back at me, solemn, waiting, glass halfway towards his mouth. "She said that she's starting to feel like she doesn't know who I am anymore."

"Why would she feel like she doesn't know who you are anymore?"

But isn't it obvious? Doesn't he already know? "About these weekends, how I'm... away with you." I hesitate, bracing myself before peering up at him reluctantly.

"What about them?"

"Well, I... I sort of made up that I'd be spending the weekends at my mother's house. Obviously she couldn't know the truth, that I'm here, with you..."

Christian moves away from the counter, pacing slowly towards where I'm standing. Once he reaches me, he simply stands near me, closer, eyes on nothing else but me, expression attentive. For some reason, I'd almost had expected him to immediately get angry with me. Or blame me even that she'd suspected me enough to actually try to contact my mother to make sure I was in fact spending the weekends with her. But to my absolute relief, he simply reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind my earlobe carefully, prompting me silently to go on with what I'm saying, no matter how nervous I am to reveal it to him.

"Last weekend, she called my mother asking to speak to me. Obviously, I wasn't there to talk to her... so my mother told her I wasn't and then... Kate realized."

"Realized?" There's an edge to his tone, a panicked one that he can't quite hide. When I meet his gaze again, I notice the wariness there, the caution. His breathing even goes a little shakier. "Realized- what exactly, honey?"

"That I haven't been spending time at my mom's of a weekend like I'd told her," I explain quickly, desperate for him to understand. "She just feels hurt because I'd lied about where I truly am, and ever since then... it's never really been the same all week between us."

"Right." He sighs a little after digesting my words. He brings up a hand to comb it slowly through his hair, and if I'm not mistaken, he looks a bit... relieved. "So she's realized that you aren't truly staying at your mother's on the weekend then?" he asks slowly, trying to properly understand.

"Y-yeah."

"But she doesn't know anything about us? She doesn't suspect?"

"No, she _definitely doesn't_ suspect anything between us." That is something I know for sure; She doesn't suspect anything is going on between her father and me at all. "So we're safe for the time being. It's just... _everything else_." Pursing my lips over the tumbler, I force another sip of the vodka in. Just like before, it burns and I cringe, making a noise. It is truly disgusting. "Ugh," I can't help grumbling out, shuddering, and the soft, breathless chuckle he gives me over it, it makes me smile, makes me feel less stressed and more relaxed somehow despite the gravity of all of this.

"You really don't like the vodka much do you?" he asks knowingly, raising his brows.

"No, I really don't. It's revolting. I don't know how you can drink it like that." He laughs at me again and I try to look stern and serious over it, although I'm trying not to laugh myself. "Don't laugh at me. It isn't very nice," I warm, my voice failing me though; It goes shaky with laughter.

Christian clears his throat hoarsely, attempting to look serious himself. "I'm sorry for laughing at you," he murmurs, but I doubt his sincerity.

"No, you're not. I think deep down inside you enjoy laughing at me."

He nods once as if truly considering that statement, shining-laughing eyes still on me, "Fair enough. I suppose that's true, but... I also know that _you_ enjoy laughing _at me_ just as much."

"Hmm. That's true." I brace myself before finishing up the last bit of liquid in my glass, swallowing it down hastily with another cringe. Memories from last weekend return to me as I notice him trying not to laugh at my expression again. "I _do_ enjoy laughing at you," I admit, reaching over, placing my empty glass on the bench. "Want to know why that is?"

I think he gets my game the instance I start to initiate it; Christian smiles before draining the last of the vodka in his own glass, his eyes searching me playfully. He reaches over to place his empty glass next to mine, only he keeps his eyes on nothing else but me. "Oh? So why is that exactly?"

"Because you're funny," I admit, jabbing my hand forward. I poke him in the chest, not too hard, but not too soft either. Just enough to make it worthwhile. "You're a... _very._.." I draw the words out after each poke playfully, " _funny_... man."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I think you are a _very funny_..." I get myself ready for it, unable to hide my grin, as I inch back a few steps away from him cautiously, " _Poor old man_ , Mr Grey."

I watch his face very carefully with an uncontrollable smile as it hits him and sinks in, those words. Poor old man. He'd gotten so playfully funny over me calling him that last week, and I couldn't resist playing with him again. It's just too much fun.

 _And... who am I kidding? Teasing him is sort of arousing as well. And exciting._

"So..." He straightens up to his full height with a loud sigh, a menacing look coming over him. I know it's all intended in playfulness though. At least, I think it is. He is too good an actor though. "I'm a funny 'poor old man', am I?" He says it through gritted teeth, his voice low, eyes glinting at me mischievously.

A frisson of exhilaration runs through me . "Yeah, that's exactly what you are. A funny poor old man."

"All right." I realize I'm holding my breath, captivated, as Christian starts slowly moving towards me. Playfully and obviously, I think, he unbuttons one of the cuff-links on his sleeve, pulling it up over his forearm, folding it so his entire wrist and hand is bare. "You've asked for it now."

"Asked for it?" I can barely contain my own excitement as I start moving again, stepping backwards while keeping my eyes on nothing else but his. His shine back at me, excited, enjoying the game just as much. "Asked for what, Mr Grey?"

"I think you know what."

"What? Are you gonna spank me now for calling you a poor old man?"

 _I know he is. I can tell. And maybe I want him to._

"Yes, and I think that is exactly what you deserve. A good hard spanking."

I can tell he's trying to look his most menacing and scariest, only he fails. I find him too sexy to even truly be frightening. And this whole entire the game... the idea of him giving me a good hard spanking, it's tantalizing.

"So that's what you're gonna do? Give me a good hard spanking?" He's still moving slowly towards me, trying to edge his way obliviously towards me with each small step he takes closer. Only I think my height and smallness gives me an advantage. I'm too swift, too quick. And yeah, maybe a little more limber due to youth on my side.

"After a good hard spanking, maybe I'll throw in some kisses too. To alleviate the redness, of course."

"Well, then. Good luck with that. You're just gonna have to try catch me first, poor old man. I'm not gonna come easily."

"Come easily?" He repeats, and I feel heat blast my face at the obvious deviant meaning to it. His eyes narrow at me, blazing with playfulness and... something else altogether. "Oh, well... actually you do come easily. And often, for the record."

The sly innuendo makes us both laugh quietly.

"Wow, I never pegged you for the dirty type, Mr Grey. That's very suggestive and naughty of you."

"But true, isn't it?" he murmurs in defense for himself as he follows me around the couch.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking dirty like that," I tease. "Especially at your age, you dirty man."

I go left, and he goes right, his long arms outstretched with a lunge. I just barely get away, and he laughs again, his breathing shaky, labored.

"Ooh, close but not close enough," I mock. "You almost had me, but... as you'll learn, I'm pretty fast. Too fast for you, maybe."

"Doubtful."

He lunges for me again, and my back smacks the wall behind me. I gasp, swivelling away from it hastily. Christian watches, still in the game.

"Careful you don't hurt yourself or run into another wall," he murmurs, the warning serious despite everything we're doing. "I wouldn't forgive myself if you truly ended up injuring yourself."

"What? Like my ass isn't going to be injured once you get to it with your hand?"

Suddenly, he lunges for me again and I turn and start running. I barely make it into the bedroom before he comes behind me, arms winding around my waist, pulling me back and into him. We're both laughing, gasping, winded from the game. As his arms loosen around my waist, I manage to get free, moving towards the bed. I use my arms to prop myself up while angling my ass in the air, waiting for it. When I glance behind my shoulder, I see Christian standing there, watching me and the way I've deliberately angled my ass up higher into the air, half off the mattress. He's still winded and breathing loudly.

"Well? Where's that good hard spank you promised me, poor old man?"

"You know, for a moment there, I thought I might show you mercy and forget the spanks after all." He comes behind me, near my playfully pushed up behind, standing right there. Playfully and unable to stop myself, I wiggle my butt a little at him, and I hear him inhale deeply as he moves even closer, to the point where as I wiggle, I feel his groin behind me, the material of his trousers up against me, his heat. "But now... there's no way in fucking hell. You deserve it."

"I'm not afraid of you," I murmur, my voice weirdly high, breathless. "Or your threat of giving me some good hard spanks."

As I lift up onto my hands on the mattress, supporting myself up on each arm easier, my backside through my jeans rubs into his groin even harder and better- just as I was hoping. The deep sudden groan he gives out, the strained noise... I have to press my lips together to stop myself from laughing out loud.

" _You_..." he growls playfully, menacingly. He grasps my hips in both hands suddenly, holding me still. He's gripping just rough enough that I can feel it. "You cheeky..." Without warning, he reaches down, slipping both hands into the band of my jeans, yanking, "Beautiful little..." pulling them down, as well as my underwear, beneath my knees, "Minx, you."

Fresh air hits my exposed buttocks as he wraps a hand over my waist again, holding me still.

And then he smacks me, hard. Even although I knew he was going to do it, i still shocks me as his palm thwacks across the flesh of my left buttocks. And then just as suddenly he does it again, only to my right side, making both of them throb and burn.

I inhale sharply, my arms buckling already to hold my weight above the mattress.

"More?" he asks behind me, his voice near my ear. "Or has the poor old man done enough to you now?"

Just like how it was last week, I find this to be so fun, so addictive, the spanking and the way he talks to me. It's all so fun, so refreshing. _But I want more. So, so much more._

"More," I murmur breathlessly. "So much more. _Please_."

A satisfied groan I've never heard come from myself before tears out between my teeth as he brings his hand up, only to smack me right in the center of my buttocks again. The sting, the slight pain and rush of blood, it feels so good. It makes me feel alive.

I can hear him behind me, panting louder each and every second that goes by, one hand still holding my waist and fingers digging into me for support. Then I hear something new, something resembling a belt buckle unclasping. The rustle of clothes, a zipper. I don't even need to glance behind me to know he's pulling down his trousers around his ankles, his shoes.

But my distraction fades the minute he's spanking me again, this time with an underarm smack.

"Oh!" I gasp out.

It isn't exactly on my cheeks this time, but... underneath. Near my privates. Weirdly, a tingly throb develops at the contact of his palm, a heat gushing below. Next, I feel his mouth, his nose on me. On where he hit me; He plants a few open-mouthed, hot kisses where he spanked me on my bottom. My belly clenches but in an extremely good way.

"I want to touch you," he murmurs, and for a second, I don't quite understand where exactly he means, until he runs his hand slowly down my back.

His fingers trace the crack of my buttocks, then go... right lower. I'm panting, and I'm fairly certain I can hear him breathing even more loudly as well.

"Jesus, honey," he mutters, his fingers still tracing down there, going near my folds, digging in even deeper. "Do you notice how wet you are?"

He eases a few tips of his fingers in and out of me, and automatically, I can't help bucking, can't help rocking on the bed. I groan as a sensation begins to build down there and Christian... he makes a deep husky noise at the back of his throat.

"Can you feel that? Feel how sopping wet you are on my fingers, honey?"

I feel my chest break out in a hot flush at his words, which I'm not sure is due to either embarrassment or arousal. Maybe it's mainly arousal? I'm not sure. All I know is that I have never heard him speak this way to me before, so dirtily, so sexily. I'm definitely learning I'm one for dirty talk, although I have a feeling its mainly due to the man doing this to me, and my trust in him.

"I think that's enough now," he whispers, voice urgent and hoarse. Giving me a few last strokes and ignoring my whimper of upset over him stopping, he abruptly hits me again on my backside - more like a swift tap this time than anything, though- and then before I know it, he's grasping me by the waist, helping me to fling over onto my back on the mattress.

I fall back, facing him this time, Christian panting desperately; eyes on nothing else but me and wild, trousers hanging around his ankles, erection and other parts bare to me.

"Yes," I murmur, breathless. I don't want to waste anytime, and it appears neither does he. Without bothering to remove his dress shirt- or me with mine for that matter- I welcome him, leaning back on the bed eagerly, spreading my legs wider.

He slides in easily from his arousal of me from earlier, and I reach up, grasping onto his shoulders, breathing heavily. First push in, and he breathes harshly, his panting matching mine. I reach up, cupping onto the back of the nape of his neck while my other hand, I run down his dress shirt slowly, tracing the outline of his spine that pokes through it, that moves with each forceful thrust he does into me.

As I go lower with my hand, reaching the tail-end of his shirt, and where his buttocks are exposed, that tight fine ass of his, I use my hand, grasping, groping it. As he eases in and out of me again several times, his glorious ass muscles clench tightly and loosen. I definitely adore the man's fine backside. I moan in happiness.

Being distracted from feeling out his ass and enjoying the sensations of him inside me, it takes me a belated moment to realize Christian's just staring directly right down at me, watching my face, taking in every reaction I make with every thrust and ease.

Like many times, I am blown away, unable to do anything else but to meet his gaze, to stare back into his eyes, admiring him, his look of pleasure, his half-hooded eyes, little grunts and groans. The intimacy of looking into someone's eyes while attached so personally to them...I will never get over it, I think.

Tightening my hold around his neck, I force him down a little, capturing my mouth with Christian's, tiring of simply staring and not kissing, especially while he's doing... this to me. Christian kisses me back, our lips dancing together, breaths swallowed in each other's mouths. I don't think I will get over his kisses, either.

I push my head back into the mattress, breathing hard, separating our mouths.

"How am I doing, hmm?" he asks, breathing just as uneven as me. "How's the poor old man doing now?" Obviously he knew what he was doing, Each slow thrust, it grows, increasingly intenser and intenser, the feeling, the pleasure.

"He's doing really... _really_ well," I manage, reaching up, caressing his face.

"Yeah?" he hisses.

"Mm," I hum, licking my lips, smoothing back the strands of his hair. "For an _old man_ , I mean," I add teasingly with a laugh. Christian chuckles in return, making my spine tingle and shiver.

Just when I wonder how much longer it can possibly go on for, this mountain, this high tide of pleasure... of feeling, it begins. I shiver as my insides tighten, quiver... and then I recognize I'm near to the brink. Christian obviously is as well because, a second later, he drops his head to rest his sweaty forehead against mine, jerking deeper and deeper inside me.

"Oh, god," I mutter, "Oh, Jesus," and then it happens, that euphoric feeling building to its peak.

I cry out as it fills me and bursts within me, making me float, explode... Barely five seconds later, Christian buries his nose into my hair and climaxes loudly, ceasing our hips movements, legs going stiff in-between mine.

Post-climax, we stay as we are, his forehead resting against mine, legs between mine, for a long moment, lost in each other's shallow breathing as we recover. I clench my eyes shut, selfishly trying to enjoy the moment, the moment of him being wrapped around me, on top of me, keeping me beneath him on the bed.

The heat him of him- of me- it's so warm, so warm and tiring. And nice. Especially nice and comfy and comforting.

It just makes everything all the more painful.

After a long peaceful moment, Christian slowly raises his head, peering down at me, blinking slowly. He moves a little, propping an elbow up near my side, and he reaches down with his hand to gently stroke beneath my chin with his fingers, his gaze intense, searching. The way he looks at me, how intense his gaze is, the emotion blaring in his gray eyes for me... my heart constricts painfully as a lump builds in my throat. _Can anyone possibly look so content, so loving as he does right now- peering right down at me?_

"Have to say I love the way you look at me," I manage weakly, combing my fingers through the sides of hair gently.

He tilts his head a little, raises his brows at me. "Do you?"

"I do. I really, _really_ do."

We stare at each other, blinking slowly. And then... it rains down on me, this excruciating feeling. My throat tightens, a feeling resembling glass painfully slicing through my heart at I know what's to eventually come, if not tonight, but after this weekend before we have to separate again.

Something glides and tickles around my eyes. Christian's gaze seems to go anxiously probing as his eyes search mine. "You OK?" he asks, his voice etched with concern. He lifts up his fingers from my chin, stroking... caressing around my face with those masculine long fingers of his.

His question confuses me. "W-why would I be OK?"

"Because you're crying?" He swallows audibly once, fingers sweeping gently down one of my eyes. I feel it then, wetness. He's thumbing around my eyelids, wiping my tears away. _Oh, I'm crying_. "Why? Why are you crying, honey? Did I hurt you or something?"

"Only... only where you spanked me on my ass, it hurts just a little." I sniff loudly, then have to giggle weakly.

"Is that why you're crying?"

"Uh, no. I just..." His fingers go beneath my chin again, stroking me, tickling and tracing around the shape of my jaw. "I think it's just... everything. It's all gotten too much for me."

"What has? Us?" He sounds as if he's suddenly holding his breath.

"Not just us, but... Kate," I choke out, deciding to be honest. It isn't fair to be anything but honest with him. "This week... Kate's anger at me over finding out I'd lied about my whereabouts on the weekends, how I wasn't truly staying at my mom's..."

 _I have to say it and do it sooner or later. It may as well be now._

"Can I ask something of you?" I begin anxiously, trying to concentrate on nothing else but making sure he explains. His fingers, I find, touching me, is too distracting.

Although it's hard, I push myself up into a sitting position, more propped up against the headboard. It creates a little bit of distance between us I guess, which makes it easier, now that he isn't so close and touching me, covering me with his comforting warmth.

I steal a look at him anxiously and find he's staring at me, some sort of apprehension or nerves in his expression as he waits for me to begin. But then I find looking at him even more painful so I fold my hands in my lap and focus on my fingers instead as I twiddle them.

"It's all just been too much lately. Kate's demanding questions on where I am and... obviously, her accusations. I'm not used to lying to someone." I inhale in deeply, squinting down at my hands. "Kate definitely knows that something is up, although she mightn't know who it is that I'm with. Even so, the lies, the sneaking around... it's already coming between us to the point where she told me that she literally feels as though she doesn't know who I am any longer."

I suck in a heavy breath, shying away from his scrutinizing gaze reluctantly. I wonder if Christian already knows what I'm trying to say, but surprisingly, he just lays there, on his side, hearing me out patiently while I try my very hardest not to break down and cry even more.

"I know that once she does find out about us, she'll probably disown me as a friend. She would probably even disown you as her daughter and would never speak to you ever again. I know that. I know how she is and how she'll react to things."

Finally, after a while of silence from him, Christian makes a noise. He sighs loudly, in a resigned, tired way. Then I catch the movement of him rolling forward a little on the bed, closer to me, his arm lifting out... He grasps one of my hands in his, squeezing gently, consoling me. My heart constricts again painfully, suffocating.

"I _have_ considered every possibility, Ana." His voice is barely above a whisper, something soft and calming to his tone as he uses this thumb to stroke back and forth over my knuckles. "I didn't just waltz into this blindly without considering all the possibilities and potential negative consequences that could come out of this once we revealed we were together."

Swallowing, I risk another peek over at him. He doesn't stare at me, he simply looks away, down at my hand, which he strokes back and forth rhythmically with both his thumb and forefinger.

"I know there's a possibility there that Katherine potentially wouldn't wish to see me ever again and that she'll feel betrayed, but... I also know what I want and I also know what I feel is worth it in the end regardless of what happens along the way." He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, eyes still on my hand as he traces a pattern around my knuckles. "I know what I want, and I believe I've already told you that I love you. You know where my feelings stand."

My heart seizes. "I know that, and I love you too, Christian, but it's just that I-" My voice trails off, my eyes going blurry as he lifts his chin and regards me with his gray eyes. God, it's just too hard. So hard. "I just... I can't do this anymore. I really don't feel like I can."

I know beyond a doubt that I've failed at composing myself when the tears ooze relentlessly down my cheeks and I began shaking, sobbing with despair.

"I just know that this will destroy my friendship with Kate in the end and already she has so much resentment towards me and I can't handle the stress of lying to her anymore. I just... I can't do it."

"So... what do you want to do, Ana?" His voice, it goes unsteady and hoarse. The sound of it, it almost tears me apart alone. "What are you asking of me? What is there that I can do?"

"I need you to wait for me. Just wait for a little bit."

"Wait for what?" He asks slowly, shaking his head. There's confusion in his eyes, pain. "Why would I need to wait for you? Where are you going exactly?"

"I'm not going anywhere," I admit desperately, edging closer to where he's sitting, aching for him to understand. I know this is selfish of me, but I know it's what I need. All the soul searching from the night before, all day... it's given me all this. "I know it's selfish of me to ask this of you, but I've been thinking a lot lately and I just need for you to wait for me, until... until I'm ready."

I gaze at him through tear-stained lashes, trying to decipher his expression to see if he understands and if he's following me or not.

"This weekend, it... it has to be the last for a while, the weekends spent meeting and being together," it feels like it's killing me to say it, but it truly is the only way. "Just until I can build up Kate's trust in me again, just until... until we're ready to be out in the open."

Before I can practically stop myself, I'm bending down, curling my arms tightly around his neck, hugging myself to him as more tears flow uncontrollably. Just when I start to suspect he hates me or he's mad at me, that I'm being horribly selfish, Christian reaches around me, cooing softly into my hair, returning my hug tightly. I exhale deeply in relief, shutting my eyes tight against the tears.

"I hate to ask for it and I... I know it's selfish of me, but...can we just for a little while?" I blab out desperately into his shoulder, finding solace in his hand stroking my hair, my back. "I just can't handle lying to her and it's killing me right now, all the-"

"-Shh," he cuts over me gently, squeezing me. "Ana, it's fine. It isn't selfish at all, OK?"

"Promise you won't hate me? It won't be a forever thing, just... a couple of weekends or something, just so that-"

"-Ana, it's fine. I understand, whatever you need," he whispers softly and it only just makes me weep into his neck even louder. "Shh, please don't cry, honey. It'll all work out."

"I _do_ love you, and I _do_ want to be with you," I get out urgently. "Please don't think that I don't for a second. There's only you, _no one else_ but you."

"I know. You don't need to explain yourself." He kisses around my forehead, nuzzling me with his bristly chin. "And besides, I was thinking..." He trails off uncertainly, as if hesitating himself for some reason to finish his own sentence.

"You were thinking?" I prompt weakly.

With a sigh, he pulls back slightly, leaning back with his head so I have no choice but to turn my head to glance up at him. My eyes are still blurry, but I think I manage to see him OK. "When you're older...about two years from now, after your education is completely over... I'd love to start the next stage of our life together."

 _When you're older about two years from now..._ It repeats in my head, circling around, confounding me.

"I want to be with you for the rest of my life," he murmurs softly, and even through my tears, I can see the amount of genuine sincerity in his expression and in his tone. It takes my breath away, builds me up with more hope. "I want you to eventually move in with me, live in my house with me. Share a more active part of my life with me."

My heart, it's swollen. All thanks to his words, it's filled with such hope, with such relief for the future... _He wants to spend the rest of his life with me. He wants me, for the long-haul._

"I know that nothing is ever permanent, and that... things can change with time, but... _if_ and _when_ you do feel ready, two years from now or... even more- no pressure- I want you to know that I'll be waiting to spend the rest of my life with you, even if that means, as you say, not seeing each other for a while so that things can get better between you and Katherine."

"Really?" I can barely raise my voice to talk. "You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

" _Really_ , honey." Christian nods once, his eyes shining with honesty. "And OK, we'll stop this for a while. Whatever you need." Crushing me tighter in his arms and leaning back on the bed, he brings me with him until we are laying down together, his arms wrapped around me, holding me as I lay on him. "It's going to be hard but... whatever you need."

He's right and it is going to be hard. I'll be missing being around him like crazy. _But it's the only solution right now that I can come up with right now, the only one to hopefully somewhat restore the relationship and trust I have with his daughter, my best friend._

 _..._

On Sunday, I'm woken up by a soft pounding on the hotel room door.

I stir, blinking and blinded momentarily by the bright white morning light seeping in through the open curtains into the hotel room bedroom. To my surprise, the sheets next to me are completely empty in the bed. But then I think I can hear Christian's masculine, whispered voice outside. He must be speaking to whoever is on the other side of the hotel room door, with not wanting to wake me just yet.

I hear his voice fade off and the door closing, and then I hear something rattling and the sound of bare footsteps against the marble floor. I sit up weakly just in time to notice Christian entering the bedroom with a tray. He's still shirtless, dressed in just boxer briefs. The tray he is carrying has an assortment of breads and spreads and even a kettle with either coffee or tea in it. Breakfast.

"Hi," I murmur softly as Christian smiles, still carrying that tray over towards where I'm laying. He manages to yank back the sheets to sit in beside me, resting the tray on the mattress near us. Breakfast in bed. "Ooh, so this is what getting spoiled feels like," I manage nervously when he leans in, planting a chaste kiss on my mouth.

"Mm. I thought I'd order room service while I let you sleep in. Seems you needed it."

"Well, thank you," I whisper appreciatively as I watch him dish out the bread on two plates, and then pour us a drink in two separate mugs. "What time is it though?"

"Just after 10 in the morning."

 _After 10 in the morning already? Yikes, I really slept in._

He passes me my mug and we spend a few moments in silence, with only the sound between us the clatter of our plates and knives as we eat breakfast. I dig into my toast eagerly, finding myself famished and ravenous. I wonder if last nights energetic love making has something to do with it though.

"Did you sleep well?" he whispers once he's finished with his own breakfast. I turn, catching him popping a finger into his mouth, sucking off a bit of butter he must have gotten onto it off. Just like that, my stomach does a little dance at the deliciousness of him.

"I did actually. I slept really well."

"And are you feeling OK still?"

"OK?"

"After what we talked about? About everything we discussed?" I nod but I mustn't be too convincing on him, because he elaborates gently, "It'll only be for a while, a sort of long-distance thing, like you suggested. Then... hopefully, after a couple of years and when you're finished with your education, we can finally move in together and start the next stages of our life together."

It feels weirdly soothing, having a definite plan about what's going to happen between us. Moving in with him, starting an actual proper life together in a few years, no longer being a secret... It's good to know where we both stand and what the plans are. It's good to know we both are thinking of the future and that we both want and have the same things in mind for us. Even if it takes us a little while longer to get there, it's so empowering, so exciting, to know that Christian wants me for the long-haul, that he does actually want and see a future for us long-term. It's everything I think I've wanted and more.

It will just be telling Kate and overcoming her reaction that's the tricky part.

"Even if Katherine reacts badly, she'll eventually get over it," he adds, as if he can read my mind, as if he knows exactly where my heads at. "It might take her some time, but I'm confident she will." _At least one of us is confident then, because... as for myself, I am not so sure._

My appetite thoroughly ruined at all things Kate, I toss my last bit of toast aside on the tray, nauseated. "I think what worries me the most is that she mightn't want to have anything to do with you anymore," I admit, confirming my worst fears as I clasp my hands tightly around my mug of tea. "She might feel really betrayed most of all that her father did this behind her back and then... I'd hate for you to hold that against me, to know that doing this with me, it's the whole reason why she won't speak to you."

"Ana, it takes two, and I made this choice just as much as you did." I know he's trying to reassure me but I still can't help but feel ill at the thought. "No matter what happens, you don't need to worry about that. I could never blame you for anything that happens once we reveal to Katherine that we're together, because... I'm an adult, I make my own choices in life. I'll just have to accept the blame and her hatred when the time comes." He shrugs, as if it's not a big deal at all. _Which I'm pretty sure it is though._

Talking about it all, this entire conversation, it just makes me feel disgusting. Disgusting and sick. And after realizing and noticing Christian just lying there, eyeing me speculatively, I realize he must notice the effect it has on me too.

Reaching down, he grabs the breakfast tray and deposits it carefully on the bedside drawer next to him, freeing up the bed. And then, without warning, he shoves the sheets off my body and launches himself down over me so hard with a passion-filled kiss that it distracts me and puts me in a better mood almost immediately.

Reaching up, grabbing his face between my hands, I kiss him back, tasting his tongue and moaning in surprise as he slips it in to thrust it against mine sensually. Pushing me into the pillow, holding me down onto the mattress, desire curls inside me, making me hot and ready for more.

As he slides his tongue around my open lips, tracing them as I shudder, he pulls back a little, panting heavily.

"You're really good at distracting me," I murmur into his mouth, my breathing ragged.

He makes a deep, half-amused noise in response. "You think so?"

"Mmm." I caress his head, running my fingers through the strands at the back of his scalp gently. "You somehow know all the right methods to clear my mind of all worries and thoughts perfectly."

"Then how about we make this worthwhile and make the most of the last few hours we have together until we have to check out and won't see each other again until after a while?"

He doesn't need to ask me twice. As Christian leans in, using his talented mouth to nip, suck and tantalize every spot on my throat and around my chest, I reach down between us, finding his boxers blindly. I manage to get them halfway down and he helps me out eagerly, springing himself free. He inhales sharply and makes the most sexiest grunting noise as I take him into my hand without warning him, and barely a second later, I realize he's right.

We should definitely make the most of it. Because this will be the last weekend we'll be spending with each other- overnight and all- until we see each other again, which will be only God knows when.

SORRY THAT THIS CHAP IS HORRIBLE

HOPE YOU WILL FORGIVE ME. THINGS WONT TURn OUT AS SEEM SO EXPECT DRAMA TO ENFOLD, THANKS SO MUCH FOR SUPPORt XX


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